The Hunter
by LemonSupreme
Summary: Connor Bennett is murdered, dying in his father's arms. Bass doesn't know who killed his son, but he did catch a glimpse of long dirty blond curls and piercing blue eyes before the killer disappeared into the mist. With nothing left to lose, Bass vows revenge. He is on the hunt…but as time passes, and the chase continues, he has to wonder - is he the hunter, or the hunted?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For the Topsy Turvy fan fic challenge on the GoodShip. The goal of this challenge is to write a story that reverses the traditional Charlie &amp; Bass roles... In the story you are about to read, instead of Bass being responsible for the deaths of Charlie's family... It is Charlie who kills Connor. This story is blackout AU.**

Chapter 1: Blood on His Hands

So much blood. Bass Monroe is shaking, his whole body quivering with rage and despair as his arms wrap around the son he barely knew. Connor is dead. Just moments ago they'd been laughing. Laughing for the first time that Bass can remember. They'd been coming out of a council meeting on the town square, surrounded by other locals. Connor had teased his Dad about something – Bass can't even remember what it was - but they were laughing. Bass will never forget the sound of his son's laugh.

Bass will also never forget the blood.

One moment they were laughing, and then Connor had staggered oddly. Bass had grabbed his son in an attempt to steady him. That's when he'd seen the shaft of the arrow protruding from his son's chest. Connor crumpled to the ground with a choked gurgling sound. Bass fell to his knees, knowing instantly that there was no coming back from a wound like Connor's. Sure enough, his son's eyes were already glassy and staring lifelessly into the late afternoon sky.

Bass holds his son as the blood soaks them both. People are beginning to notice something is wrong. Nobody else falls. No other arrows fly. This was not an accident nor is the village under attack. Connor had been targeted.

Bass feels the white heat of rage rise from within.

Theirs had certainly never been a traditional father/son relationship. It had only been five years ago that Bass had received the message from Miles – his best friend and President of the Republic. Miles had demanded that Bass visit him in Philly to accept a package. The "package" was a surprise twenty year old son – one who was grieving the recent death of his mother, and wanted nothing to do with this new father figure being thrust upon him.

Connor had never even known he had a dad till his mom got sick, and when he found out, he hadn't been terribly impressed. Bass Monroe was a well respected sheriff and best friends with the Republic's president, but neither of those things made Connor warm up to his Dad. Connor and Bass had grown used to each other over time, but they had never become close. Tonight had been the first time Bass had felt hope for that relationship. That hope is now just as dead as his son.

These thoughts had rushed through his mind in a fraction of a moment. Bass looks up to scan his surroundings. He searches for the source of the arrow that is buried in his son's chest, and he sees something right away.

Someone.

Someone who doesn't belong.

The sighting is no more than a momentary glimpse. He sees lots of dirty blond curls and flashing blue eyes. He sees a determined chin and in her hands, he sees the bow. Their eyes meet for just a moment and the current that flows between them is a living thing.

Bass gently places his son on the ground and stands in the middle of his street, covered in blood, tears streaming down his cheeks. He points to the woods and yells at his deputies who are standing nearby. "Get her!" he yells.

"Her? Who is it?" one of them asks.

"The bitch who killed my son. Bring her to me."

* * *

Aaron Pittman is standing in an open doorway of the little shack where they've taken refuge. He watches Charlie with an expression that is both concerned and appalled. "Since when do you kill people?" he asks, his voice pitched a little higher than usual.

She shakes her head, not looking up from the tattered old map in her hands, "Didn't want to. You know that."

"Well, from the look on that guy's face, I don't think he's going to care that you didn't want to. He's going to want your head."

"I know." Charlie's mind flashes to the face of the man in the street. She guesses that he's the mark's father, but she doesn't know for sure. She doesn't know much about the guy she'd killed. She only knows that he had to die.

"Please tell me you have a plan."

Charlie lets out a long slow breath. "We're going to get away from here as fast as possible and hope he can't find us."

"That's your plan?" Aaron's worry ratchets up a notch. He never had been the best at running.

"Well, if we ever face that guy again, I want to make sure he's had time to mellow out a bit first."

"I think that guy you killed was his kid. He's not going to mellow out about that, and he looked crazy mad."

"I know." She says again. This time her voice is nothing more than a whisper as she remembers the man in the street. He'd been covered in his son's blood. Tears on his cheeks. His hair had been curly and tousled. His eyes had raged with a hot blue fire. His gaze had met hers. He told her in that moment without words that he would kill her.

He would chase her to the end of the Earth and then he would snuff her out.

He would kill her the way she had killed his son.

She understood his need for revenge and had run instinctively. What she doesn't understand is this sudden and unexpected pull that he has on her. It's not his pain that draws her in. It's not his looks, though Charlie has to admit to herself he might just be the sexiest man she's ever seen. No. It's something else… Something she can't pinpoint.

All she knows is that she needs to see him again, but not right now.

"This isn't going to end well." Aaron says with a resigned shake of his head. "Like, not well at all."

Charlie shrugs, "I guess we'll see. For now we need to get moving."

* * *

**A/N: Trying something new with this one. There will be a lot of chapters. They will all be pretty short and updates will be frequent. If you have a minute, let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Haunted By Dreams

Aaron Pittman watches Charlie as she sleeps on the other side of a dying fire. His brow furrows with worry. He knows her well enough to read the signs, and all day he's been dreading this moment – the return of the bad dream that has haunted her sleep for years. Charlie begins to groan, her arms thrashing. He finds the canteen, keeping it ready.

The first time he'd witnessed her having this nightmare; Aaron had tried to wake her. She'd only been a child, but she had panicked and struggled and nearly broken his arm before finally coming to. Now, he just watches sadly. He knows the rhythm of the dream, and because she's told him how it all happened, he even knows approximately what she sees in the darkness of her subconscious.

It is always the same.

_Charlie is thirteen again. She walks toward home, a dead rabbit dangling from one fist, her new bow perched jauntily on the opposite shoulder. She is smiling. The air is cool. The birds are singing. When she hears the new sounds at first, she isn't scared or worried._

_She is curious. That is all._

_As she gets closer to the home she shares with her parents and younger brother, the sounds become more distinct, and Charlie's curiosity gives way to a gnawing dread. She drops the rabbit and moves stealthily through the small orchard, breaking into a run toward the house when she sees that the coast is clear._

_She finds her father on the porch, a bullet hole in his chest, his eyes vacant. Charlie bites her hand to keep the scream inside. She lets up a little when she tastes the warm copper of her own blood. The sounds from inside the house are louder now and she can make out the voice of her mother – clearly in distress. Charlie kneels beside her father's body, pressing her palm to the side of his face. "Love you Daddy." She whispers before standing and slowly opening the screen door that leads into the kitchen. _

_Danny is on the kitchen floor, his little Bowie knife still clutched in one small hand, but the hand isn't moving. She doesn't even need to get closer to know it will never move again. There is far too much blood. She chokes back crushing terror and grief, silently promising her brother she'll come back to say goodbye. For now, she needs to help her mom._

_Charlie edges slowly down the hallway. The sounds intermixed with her mother's cries are strange and awful. She peeks around the door frame and sees the men who have ruined her family in the time it took her to hunt one rabbit. _

_There are four intruders. One is on the floor behind the sofa. All she can see are his legs. The other three are watching him and laughing. She does not recognize their faces, but she can tell they are all war clan members. _

_Charlie readies her bow, hoping to shoot at least one of them. Charlie knows it will mean her death as well, but she doesn't care. She's pulling back to fire an arrow when the guy who had been on the floor, suddenly stands. The others are still laughing. They leave then, never even noticing the young girl hidden in the shadows of the doorway._

_Charlie lowers the bow as the door slams shut. She moves around the sofa to her mother who is crumpled on the floor - beaten and bloody. Her clothes are torn and hanging oddly from her body. A gaping knife wound in her side oozes blood. Rachel looks up at her daughter with panic in her eyes._

"_It's okay Mom. They left. I'll take care of you." Charlie is sobbing now._

_Rachel is weak but shakes her head. "No. Losing too much blood." Rachel rasps out, "Go to Miles. Tell him Andover did this. Andover. Miles will take care of – "_

"_What Mom? Uncle Miles will take care of what?" Charlie frantically searches her mom's face for signs of life, but they are gone. She curls next to her mother's body and cries. She will have to be strong. She knows this, but first she has to be a little girl who just lost her whole family..._

_The door bangs open and even though Charlie is dreaming, she sees this for what it is – a new twist to an old nightmare. Slowly Charlie stands. She isn't thirteen anymore. She is an adult and she stands tall, facing the door. He is here in her childhood home - the man from the village street – the man from yesterday. His blue eyes blaze with fury, "How could you kill my son? You know what it's like to lose your family. Why would you take mine?" He steps closer and she sees the gun in his hand and his eyes are full of hate and revenge as he points it at her and pulls on the trigger, and then –_

Charlie wakes in a panic, sitting bolt upright – her eyes wide. She searches the camp site and her heartbeat slows only when she sees Aaron. He's got that look that she hates, the one that is full of pity. She looks away but takes the outstretched canteen, gulping lukewarm water. She hates that pity look, but having Aaron around is a balm to her soul. He has been her rock ever since she lost her family.

He is her family now.

Slowly, she begins to calm down. She lies back on her bedroll and stares into the night sky.

Aaron pats her awkwardly on the shoulder, "It's gonna be okay, Charlie."

"No, I don't think it is." She whispers softly. "It's never going to be okay." She waits until she hears him settle into his spot under a nearby tree before closing her eyes again.

* * *

President Miles Matheson is reviewing the latest correspondence from Foster in Georgia. He doesn't bother looking up when the door opens. He knows his visitor is his second in command - Jeremy Baker just from the sound of his boots on the polished wood floor. "What?" Miles asks.

"Thought you should know, Sir – Connor Bennett was killed yesterday."

This gets the President's full attention. He sets the letter down and looks up at Baker, "Where was Bass?" Miles sounds tired. These last six months have been awful for the Republic. Rebel uprisings have become more frequent. He has a lot on his mind.

"At his son's side when it happened. He's vowing revenge and he wants some of your men to go after the killer."

Miles leans back in his chair now, staring out the window. "Revenge." He says softly. "I don't know that we can spare men for a wild goose chase, Baker."

"It might not be such a wild goose chase, Sir."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Bass caught a glimpse of Connor's killer. Said he'd know her again anywhere…gave a detailed description."

"Her?" Miles asks. "You mean Bass saw…?"

"Yeah.

"Shit." Miles stands and begins to pace. "I suppose we can send a search party. Don't want Bass on it though. If I know him, he's going to be unhinged."

"You know him well." Baker mutters.

Miles notes something new in his friend's voice, "He's here?"

"Waiting outside the front entrance."

Miles nods slowly, "Send him in."

* * *

Miles sucks in a deep breath when his best friend walks in. They had met just a week before for a poker game but this is not the same Bass Monroe who had won big that night. The change Miles sees in Monroe today is staggering. Bass looks haggard. He clearly hasn't slept or bathed. His hair is sticking out oddly and his eyes have a crazed look that worries Miles more than anything else.

"I just heard about Connor, Bass. I'm sorry."

Bass nods, "I need some guys, Miles. I have to find her."

"You're sure it's a woman?"

"Yeah. I saw her. She's young, beautiful even. I'd know her anywhere. I asked around and a few people had seen her around town. She travels with someone. I didn't see him myself, but I've heard he's a fat guy with black glasses. I think they should be easy to find."

Miles watches, growing more worried with each passing moment. His friend can't focus, and is clearly itching to get on the move. "Bass? Have you slept at all?"

"No. I can't…. no."

"You need to rest." He turns to Baker, "Have Helga get a room ready for Bass." Miles turns back to Monroe, "You are in no condition to do anything at all. Get cleaned up. Sleep. Eat a good meal. Then we can discuss sending a search party in the morning."

"I don't want to discuss it tomorrow. I want to discuss it now."

Miles runs a hand through his hair, "No, Bass. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Bass is going to object but sees the look in Miles's eyes, and he finds that he's just too damn tired to argue. Miles is right. He needs some sleep. "Fine."

* * *

Hours later, Bass is clean and clothed. He's lying on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. He'd eaten a bowl of venison stew and several thick slices of bread. Bass feels better physically, though he's still dog tired. Even exhausted, he can't stop the endless barrage of thoughts which plague him.

Connor lying dead in the street is the image that haunts him the most, but being here in Philly again also brings up memories. These aren't bad ones exactly. He thinks about how different life would be if he'd taken up Miles's offer years ago to build and lead the Republic as a team.

Bass doesn't regret his decision to step aside and let Miles run things alone. Shelly's death had broken him, and in the bloody days that had followed, Bass had become a different person. The grief he'd suffered had been a game changer for Monroe. In the aftermath – where he'd lead an attack on a nearby camp and slaughtered the people there – he'd seen in himself a darkness that he had hoped to never see again.

The face of the girl with the bow flashes through his mind and he feels the darkness returning. He shakes his head in attempt to clear his thoughts of her.

The decision to let Miles create the Republic solo, had been a good one, and Bass has been happy with his quiet life as a small town sheriff. He and Miles have maintained a close friendship and they work together from time to time on local issues. This partnership has served both of the old friends well, and the Republic has flourished – until recently.

These days, the world is a different place. Resistance groups have begun to form against the Republic and the Militia has had to wield more power than they had done previously just to keep the peace. Bass and Miles have shared their concerns about the direction the Republic is headed in if these Rebels win.

Yesterday Bass had been worried about his nation's future. Today all he cares about is revenge.

Bass closes his eyes, finally unable to fight the wave of exhaustion that overwhelms him.

And he dreams.

_Shelly is beautiful with her rounded belly and her big smile. He loves running his fingers through her hair as they discuss baby names late into the night. He loves the feel of her snuggled in his arms. He loves everything about her. _

_They are excited to start a family. She's convinced the baby is a girl and wants to name her Alice. He is just as convinced it's a boy and wants their son to be named Gabe. _

_They are laughing and kissing and then the scene changes and she is covered with blood, lying motionless in the tent where she'd died along with their tiny daughter. _

_He wails at the sight of their lifeless bodies. _

_He stares at his hands, covered in their blood._

_The scene changes again and it's Connor who is laughing with him. Bass wraps an arm around his son's shoulders, feeling hopeful for the future. He feels a surge of love for his son and then the arrow sinks into Connor's heart and the laughter fades and again there is blood – so much blood. _

_Bass screams into the sky as he holds his dead son. _

_Then the two scenes merge and he is sitting on the floor of the tent with Shelly on the cot behind him. At his feet lie his dead children. _

_He hears someone enter the tent. He looks up, dazed and broken, to see the girl who had killed Connor. Her hair hangs long and loose around her shoulders. Her blue eyes are haunted and sad. "I'm sorry." She says._

"_You aren't sorry enough. Not yet." He answers as the anger erupts._

_She nods in agreement and then disappears. He tries to stand but he keeps slipping in the blood. _

_So much blood._

Bass wakes with a jerk and reaches for the bottle of whiskey that Baker had thoughtfully left for him. He drinks it all before finally succumbing to a blessedly dreamless sleep.

* * *

Miles Matheson is in his office again when Baker comes by. "He's asleep, finally." Baker says.

"Good."

"Are you going to tell him the truth?"

"Not yet. He is in no shape for the truth right now. It would break him."

Baker cocks an eyebrow. "By the looks of things, that ship has sailed, Sir."

"Yeah, I know." Miles rubs at his eyes. He needs sleep too. "Fuck." Miles mutters. Standing, he begins to pace. "Vengeful Bass will be no good to a search party, especially one who is looking for his son's killer."

"So, what do you have in mind?" Baker asks.

"Well, where vengeful Bass could be useful is on the battlefield. I'll make a deal with him. I'll take care of this girl he wants to find and cover his job in the village. He can take care of that bullshit in Illinois, and work out some aggression. Two birds,one stone."

"He'll go for it?" Baker is skeptical.

"Oh, hell no - not at first. He has a hard time saying no to me though. I'll use that here. When Bass wakes up, let's tell him the search party is going after Connor's killer and that while they are searching, he can help us by heading up a Militia battalion. We'll send him to Chicago. I don't want him around here right now, in case there is still a threat."

"All right then. Sounds like you have it all figured out."

Miles sadly shakes his head, "Not even close Baker. Not even close."

* * *

Charlie and Aaron have acquired a wagon and are heading west. "Where are we going?" Aaron asks.

She stares straight ahead as the wind blows her hair wildly, her chin a stubborn line. Pushing some of the hair from her eyes, she says, "Chicago, I guess. We'll find Adam. He always has more bounties than he can hunt. We'll make a little money and then move on."

Aaron is worried for his friend. She is more reserved than usual. Her eyes are haunted. He knows she felt obligated to kill that guy, but he can also tell she's now not sure it was the right decision. She's been hunting bounties for three years, and she's good at it. The killing though…that's new and he's glad it's not so easy. Aaron nods, "Chicago it is."

The truth is he'll follow her anywhere and she knows this. No matter what happens, he will never leave her.

"Chicago." She says again, her mind somewhere else entirely.

* * *

The next morning dawns and Miles has filled his best friend in on the new plan.

"You want me to fucking go to Chicago when my kid's killer is on the loose here? I want to join the search party!" Bass is irate.

Miles shakes his head firmly, "You know that's a bad idea. This is personal to you, and it should be. I get it. Your kid is dead and you want revenge. If we want to find this killer though, my men need to be able to search objectively. That can't happen if you're there."

Bass starts to retort but Miles cuts him off. "I've already lined up a guy to fill in for you in the Sheriff's office. This gig with the militia will get you a change of pace and I think you need that right now. When you get back, if they haven't found your mystery killer, you can join them in the search then."

Bass knows when he can win an argument with his best friend. This isn't one of those times. "Chicago?" he asks with a resigned frown.

"Chicago."

* * *

**A/N: Another chap will be up in a couple days. That's where the cat and mouse will begin… Comment if you have a minute.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Don't Fear the Reaper

Charlie and Aaron sit in a shitty bar in what had once been Joliet, Illinois. These days it is just part of the Plains Nation region known as Chicago. The bar belongs to Charlie's friend Adam.

Two months have passed since Charlie had killed the dark haired guy in the street back in the Matheson Republic. She and Aaron have been traveling ever since – mostly under cover of darkness - making a point to avoid all major roadways. They had taken a lengthy detour in Ohio, hunting a rapist. The earned bounty had bank rolled the rest of their journey west as well as allowing them to save some back for a rainy day.

"Every fucking day is rainy." Charlie had said when Aaron brought up the idea of starting a nest egg.

"It can always get worse, Charlie."

She wasn't at all sure that she believed him, but she finally agreed to give her extra diamonds to him for safe keeping.

The trip had been complicated by the recent increase of violence in the plains. It was hard to imagine that things could have gotten worse here, but they had. The group of rebels calling themselves 'Patriots' had grown exponentially and the Matheson Militia was doing all it could to keep them in check. Battles were waged all across the Plains Nation.

Charlie is slowly polishing off a glass of whiskey and Aaron is grumbling about his cup of coffee… something about still missing his French Press after all these years. Charlie mostly ignores him. She's tired and grouchy and just wants to meet with Adam. She glances up at the door to the back for the tenth time. Where is he?

Finally a figure appears. The guy is messed up. Bandages are wrapped around his head and his arm is in a sling. He walks with a limp that looks quite painful. The left side of his face is an angry red, the skin peeling.

"Adam?" Charlie asks. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I was hunting a bounty down by South Bend. I didn't know that a battle was brewing and got caught in the middle of it. It was brutal, Charlie. Those Patriot assholes are vicious. Not that the Militia is much better." Adam shakes his head, but then winces at the movement. "I was lucky I got out alive."

"Who won?" Aaron asks. He doesn't really care, but it seems like the right question to ask.

"The Matheson guys won. They're being led by this General Monroe right now. People are calling him the Grim Reaper. He is one crazy son of a bitch. Absolutely ruthless." Adam shudders slightly.

"Monroe." Charlie says quietly, her brow furrowed. "That name sounds familiar."

Adam shrugs as he carefully lowers himself into a chair. "Don't know if you would have ever heard of him or not. I think he's new to the Militia. He was just a Sheriff or something before he joined. He fights with two swords like some kind of ninja."

"A ninja, huh?" Aaron is dubious.

"Yeah. You know, there's a story about him here somewhere." Adam reaches around under the bar and comes up with what passes for a newspaper in these parts. He hands it to Aaron.

Charlie changes the subject, "You have any bounties for me? We could use the distraction."

Adam nods, "Yeah, I got a few I was going after till I got hurt. Let me find them." He starts digging around under the bar again.

Aaron nudges Charlie, "Hey."

She shakes him off, "Who's putting up the reward? I won't work for the Patriots."

"These are independent bounties…. Shit. Where are they?" He continues to search.

"Uh, Charlie? You need to look at this." Aaron sounds pensive.

"Here!" Adam says triumphantly, holding up some sheets of paper.

"How many?" Charlie asks, ignoring Aaron.

"Five here, but one of these guys is dead and one was captured yesterday. Leaves you three. That work?"

"It's a start – "

"Charlie!" Aaron says again, determined to get her attention.

"What?" she finally asks, annoyed.

He shoves the newspaper under her nose. The headline reads 'The Grim Reaper Saves Chicago from the Patriots'.

"So?"

"Turn it over. Look at the picture under the fold."

She flips the paper over and her breath hitches. The drawing is crude, but she'd know that face anywhere. After all, it's haunted her dreams for months. "Oh fuck." She mutters.

"Yeah, you decided to break your no kill rule one time and you do it by killing the son of the Grim Reaper." Aaron's eyes are wide, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Well, if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have no luck at all." She tears her eyes away from the picture and quickly reads the article about General Sebastian Monroe. "You have got to be kidding me." All color drains from her face.

"What?" Aaron asks.

"Says here that Monroe's best friend is President Miles Matheson."

"What the hell?" Aaron stares open mouthed.

"Yeah, What the fucking hell indeed." Charlie's mouth is set in a grim line. She looks to Adam, "I'm taking these bounties, and this too." She holds up the newspaper and he nods.

"Be safe Charlie."

"That's always the plan." She mutters as she and Aaron walk out the door.

* * *

Bass stares into the night sky, a bottle of whiskey clutched loosely in one hand. He's still covered in dried blood and he should probably have the gash in his thigh looked at, but he just doesn't care. The Militia camp at his back is mostly silent and dark. The men have had a rough couple months and losses have been heavy.

Today was no different.

Seventeen wounded (not counting himself). Twelve dead. No time to mourn the fallen. There would only be more to mourn tomorrow. Not a day goes by that there isn't at least a skirmish with those Patriot bastards. The only good news is that for every Militia fatality, the Patriots are losing four or five. The rebels are good, but not good enough.

Bass assumes this will mean a win eventually, but he's not sure he even cares.

He can't sleep. When he closes his eyes, he dreams of Connor and blood and Lucy.

Lucy.

That's what he calls her in his head – the girl with the bow. He couldn't keep thinking of her as 'that bitch who killed my kid' anymore, even though – of course – that's exactly who she is. Bass needed a name to go with the long golden curls and the cold bitch heart which beats only because he hasn't stopped it yet. He doesn't know where the name Lucy came from, but he now uses it whenever he thinks of her, which is far too fucking often.

Monroe's hate for the girl he calls Lucy curdles his gut. It is that hate that drives him back into battle day after day and week after week. His hate for her and the blood and the guts and the whiskey that he drinks like water…they swirl in his head constantly.

If that wasn't enough, now he's got this new bullshit from Miles to think about. "Fuck." He mutters, pulling the paper from his pocket and looking at it one more time.

The letter had arrived via messenger this morning. It is brief, which is typical of anything that ever comes from the desk of President Miles Matheson. The content is simple. Miles is thrilled with Monroe's progress in the Plains. He thinks the Grim Reaper nick name is hilarious. He's sending more troops. Then, there it is… the tiny note at the end 'no luck finding the girl. Sorry.' "Fuck." Bass says again, crumpling the paper in his fist.

"Fuck."

* * *

Charlie hasn't been sleeping. She's haunted by memories and regrets and anger. So she buries herself in work. Charlie has been on the move non-stop since taking the bounties from Adam. She tracked the first guy down in the first forty-eight hours. The second one took six days.

She is exhausted, but determined to get the third one – a woman this time - so that they can move on. She's been on the trail for two weeks now and doesn't appear to be slowing.

"Seriously Charlie, you need a rest. I need a rest. WE need a rest."

"Stop whining." She has a bite of jerky half way to her mouth when they hear it.

"What is that?" Aaron asks, going still.

"Horses." Charlie says, listening closely. She puts down the jerky. "Soldiers." Charlie stands and grabs her pack. She throws it over her shoulder and looks at Aaron, a gleam in her eye. "Militia."

Aaron stands with a heavy sigh, knowing that he won't be resting anytime soon. "Wait." He says. "Why are you going toward the Militia? Shouldn't we be going the other way?"

Charlie shakes her head without slowing. "I need to see him Aaron. I can't explain it, but I need to see him."

"Who?" but Aaron knows before she even answers his question.

"The Grim Reaper." She says, and her tone doesn't leave anything up to debate. "I want to see him again."

"Of course you do." Aaron says, shaking his head as he pulls on his backpack to follow.

* * *

Charlie and Aaron follow the soldiers as they make their way to a Militia camp. The sun shines warmly down on the neat rows of tents. Men in uniform mill about. Several appear to have just returned from battle. A row of five bodies, wrapped in bloody cloth, lie under a far tree awaiting burial.

They watch from a grove of trees on a hill and Charlie uses her binoculars to scan the tents and camp fires. It only takes her a few minutes to find him. He's leaning against a tree. One side of his face is splattered with dried blood – not his blood it seems. He's drinking from a bottle, staring blankly into the forest that borders the camp.

She watches the General closely, noting the two swords that hang from his belt. She sees that he's let a beard grow in and that he's lost some weight. Sadness exudes from him, but it doesn't stop her from once again noting how beautiful he is, even sad and dirty and covered in someone else's blood.

"Why are we here, Charlie?" Aaron's voice is no more than a whisper. He is worried for his friend and scared for their safety. Mostly he is worried. Charlie hasn't been herself since she'd killed this man's son.

"I don't know." She says quietly, "I guess I feel guilty. Maybe I can make it up to him or something."

"You didn't hurt his feelings, Charlie. You killed his kid. How do you make up for that?"

Charlie shrugs, "Don't know. Yet. I'll figure something out."

"But if he sees you, he's going to kill you."

"Yeah." She agrees. "So, he can't see me."

"How about, instead of whatever crazy plan you're cooking up, maybe we should just move on while we can?"

"No. not yet." She watches as the man who haunts her dreams drains the last of his bottle and makes his way to his tent without so much as acknowledging a single other soldier in his camp. He looks lost. He looks the way Charlie feels. "I think we'll stick around for a while…watch from a distance."

Aaron closes his eyes, "Of course that's what we're going to do, because nothing bad can happen from stalking the Grim Reaper."

* * *

**A/N: Please review if you have a moment.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Best Laid Plans

Jeremy knocks on President Matheson's door. Usually he would just walk in, but Miles has been in an awful mood for weeks. "Mr. President, Sir?"

"Cut the bullshit, Baker. What do you want?"

"Well, we have just received a status report from Thompson."

"Who the hell is Thompson?" Miles asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"He's the soldier who delivered your message to Monroe."

This gets his attention. He nods, "So what's the status report?"

"Well, General Monroe is okay. He has suffered only minor injuries and he's drinking too much, but he continues to win every battle he fights."

"Finally some good news."

"There is one other thing." Baker sounds wary.

"What?" Miles snaps.

"Thompson said he's pretty damn sure that he saw Charlie and Pittman."

Miles stares hard at Baker, "Where?"

In his head Baker is wondering if Miles knows the old saying, 'Don't shoot the messenger.' He takes a deep breath, "About a mile from Monroe's camp in the heart of Chicago territory."

Miles goes pale and his breathing becomes ragged. "Shit! Why is she there?"

"No idea, Sir."

"Damn it." Miles growls as he flings a liquor bottle against the wall of his office. Both men watch the glass shatter and fall to the floor in a brown puddle of jagged glass. "Damn it." Miles says again, his eyes haunted by fear.

* * *

Monroe staggers back to the new camp with what's left of his men trudging along behind him. Today's battle had technically been a win, but the Militia losses had been unacceptable.

Those new troops Miles promised had better be on their fucking way.

Bass goes to the medic tent to have wounds in his cheek and along his shoulder stitched up. Neither are terribly long cuts but both are deep. Once he's all sewn up, he makes his way to his tent. He needs sleep. Falling onto his cot, Bass drifts off in moments, overcome by exhaustion.

He wakes after a couple hours, immediately alert and aware, but not sure what had interrupted his slumber. After a few minutes he identifies the sound for what it is - crying. Bass closes his eyes with a sigh and tries to block out the muted wails of the soldier in a nearby tent. Undoubtedly the kid was either homesick or had lost a close friend today.

Chances are it was both. War sucks.

"Shit." Bass says, unable to take it anymore. He wanders out into the night, searching for a quiet place he can rest. He stomps into the forest, slowing only as the silence he craves envelops him like a glove. Bass leans against a tree, sliding to the ground with his back to the rough bark. He closes his eyes and relaxes, his body going limp as sleep descends.

"Well, I'll be damned if it isn't General Sebastian Monroe himself!" The voice is twangy and unfamiliar. He's wearing a grubby Patriot uniform. The faded American flag prominently displayed on one shoulder. Bass's eyes go wide and his hand goes for his sword, but he freezes when the man cocks the gun pointed at Monroe's head. "Nah, I'm thinking you should just stay real still-like."

"What do you want?" Bass asks. He knows what this dipshit wants, but wants to buy time.

"As much as I'd love to shoot you dead, I bet that my superiors would prefer I bring you back alive. You gonna cooperate or do we have to do this the hard way?" he asks.

"I always have preferred the hard way," Bass says, reaching swiftly for the pistol tucked into his boot. Years of training kick in and Monroe's movements are fast, but not fast enough. Bass realizes his mistake – underestimating this hick Patriot – before his fingers can close around the gun. The Patriot pulls his finger tight against his trigger. Bass closes his eyes instinctively, but they open wide when the bullet flies past his head, sinking deep into the trunk of the tree.

"What the?" Bass doesn't even finish his thought as he watches the Patriot gasp for breath before falling to his knees. The man's shocked eyes are locked on Monroe as blood begins to bubble from between his lips. He falls with a thud on the ground as Bass scrambles to a standing position.

That's when Monroe sees the familiar arrow buried in the Patriot's back. He steps over the dead guy, filled with an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation. Bass grasps his gun firmly and searches the shadows around him. He sees nothing but trees and darkness.

Finally, he lowers the gun, knowing that if she wanted to kill him, he'd already be dead.

He may not see her, but he knows in his gut that it's her. He doesn't know why she's followed him to the middle of this godforsaken corner of the Plains, but she's here.

Lucy is HERE.

* * *

"What the hell was THAT?" Aaron asks Charlie as she returns back to the makeshift camp they've set up. "I heard a shot. What happened?"

"We're in the middle of a warzone Aaron. We hear lots of shots." She brushes past, throwing her things into a pile near the tent.

"No. Something happened." Aaron crosses his arms, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not a child anymore."

"You want to be treated like an adult, act like an adult. What happened?"

Charlie lets out a heavy sigh, "I killed a guy….a Patriot."

Aaron pushes both hands into his shaggy hair, and holds them there. "You killed a guy? What, are you Nikita now?"

"Who?" Charlie is baffled.

"Never mind. You used to always say your rule was no killing. Then we went out East and you said you were going to kill just that one guy. Clearly you have changed the rules again. What's going on?"

"New rule." Charlie says as she unbuckles her boots and crawls into her bedroll.

"What's the new rule?"

"I only kill when I have to."

"That's super vague. Why did you have to kill someone tonight?"

"Monroe was in danger."

"The Grim Reaper was in danger, and YOU had to save him?"

"Yeah. Nobody else was there, and he's Uncle Miles's best friend."

"So what? Clearly your Uncle Miles has a seriously warped sense of friendship. Why should you be responsible for picking up the slack?"

Charlie shrugs, "It's not just that, all right?"

"No Charlie. This is NOT all right. Please tell me because I don't get it. What is it about this guy? We're following him around like he doesn't want you dead…now you are killing guys who could actually do us a favor and take him out of the equation." He shakes his head, "Explain it to me Charlie. What's going on?"

Charlie sits up slowly, "It's like when I look at him…"

"Yeah?" Aaron prods.

"When I look at him I see something."

"What?"

"I see… myself. He looks the way I feel." Charlie lies back down and rolls to face the wall of the tent.

Aaron lets out a deep breath and plops down on his side. "We're going to be here a while, aren't we?"

Charlie doesn't answer, but that is answer enough.

* * *

Bass sits by a campfire the next morning drinking a cup of sludge that barely passes for coffee. He rolls the shaft of the arrow between his fingers, watching it move as if in a trance. He knows he should be worried that she's out there and that she's following him. He knows he should be telling his men to search the hills around the camp to find her and her fat friend. Find them and kill them both.

He knows that whatever is happening here is probably not good.

He knows all of these things, but he also recognizes that for the first time since burying his son, Monroe wants more than revenge.

He wants answers.

Lucy is going to die, and Monroe is going to kill her, but first she is going to talk.

* * *

**A/N: Leave a review if you have a moment. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Some backstory in this one...flashbacks in italics.**

* * *

Chapter 5: Unforgettable

Aaron Pittman watches Charlie sleep. He is worried for her safety and concerned about this unhealthy obsession she has with General Monroe. Since the first day he had met her, Charlie has held a special place in Aaron's heart. He couldn't love her more if she were his own daughter. In the beginning, he had tried to watch over her and help her, but the truth was she'd never needed him nearly as much as he had needed her.

Aaron leans back and closes his eyes remembering their first meeting...

_It had been a lovely spring day in Wisconsin, but Aaron was tired. He'd never walked so far in his life and he hoped that Ben's place wasn't far ahead. He noticed the girl coming his way before she saw him. Aaron watched as she ducked behind a grove of trees. He considered ignoring her, and moving on, but he just couldn't. She looked so little._

_He'd made his way next to her hiding spot and stopped. "Hey, do you need any help? Where are your parents?" His request was met with silence. "I know you're in there. I saw you hide."_

"_Go away."_

"_I can't leave you by yourself. You're just a kid." Even through the leaves and branches, he could hear her disgusted grunt. Before he could say anything more, he felt a searing pain in his thigh. Looking down, he saw a small arrow poking out of his leg. "OW!" he yelled, "You shot me!"_

_The little girl peeked out then, eyeing him up and down carefully. She walked closer to where he was jumping up and down on one leg. "You're not in a clan, are you?" She asked, her bow pointed at a much more sensitive spot than his leg. Her blue eyes were narrowed suspiciously. _

"_No! Damnit. I am not in a clan." He pulled at the arrow gently but winced without removing it, "Is that why you shot me?"_

_After a minute she appeared to have decided that he was no threat, and lowered her weapon. "I was just being careful. Don't be such a baby. I aimed at a fleshy spot." She shook her head a little, "You have a lot of those. You'll be fine." Then without warning, she yanked the arrow from his leg._

"_That really hurt." Aaron moaned, pressing his jacket against the wound._

"_Why are you here if you aren't in a clan?" She ignored his pain completely._

"_Looking for a friend of mine. Supposed to live around here. I'm hoping he's a little more welcoming than you have been."_

"_Who's your friend?" the girl asked._

"_Ben Matheson." Aaron just happened to be watching her face as he spoke or he might have missed the flinch. He saw it though, "Hey, you know him?"_

_She nodded once, curtly. "Yeah. He was my Dad." She watched him for a moment, trying to decide something. Finally she held out her hand for him to shake, "My name is Charlie."_

_Aaron shook Charlie's outstretched hand, as a feeling of dread consumed him. "Where is your Dad, Charlie?"_

"_He's dead. My mom and brother too. I buried them in the vegetable garden because the dirt was too hard for me to dig into anywhere else." Her lip trembled just a little, but she tilted her chin high. "Clan killed them. I have to go tell my Uncle so he can take care of it."_

_Aaron was shaken at her revelation. His friend was dead. "Where does your uncle live?"_

"_Philadelphia. It's… east." She said, her voice unsure._

"_Charlie, how old are you?" _

"_Thirteen."_

_This surprised Aaron. She looked younger than thirteen, probably because she was so petite. In a year she would grow almost a foot and he'll start to worry about the way men ogle her, but on this day his only thought was that she was far too little to travel alone. "You can't walk to Philly by yourself. You just can't. It's not safe and it's really far… like a thousand miles away." He thought about it for a moment, "Literally a thousand miles."_

"_Got to go see my Uncle. Mom said he would know what to do." Her chin tilted even higher. "I'm going, and you can't stop me."_

"_Maybe I can't stop you, but I am coming with you."_

"_Why?" She looked truly puzzled._

"_Because Ben was my friend and I know he would want you to be safe."_

"_And you're going to keep me safe?" She looked skeptical._

"_I'll sure try."_

_Charlie nodded slowly, "Fine, but keep up." She started walking then, not bothering to wait around for his answer. _

_He hobbled up to walk at her side. "I'm Aaron Pittman, by the way."_

"_Aaron." She said, "It's nice to meet you."_

* * *

President Miles Matheson stares into his glass, watching as the amber liquid swirls. He has a stack of paperwork that Baker has been bugging him to get through, but he can't focus. Charlie is out there somewhere, and she's probably in danger, and it's all Miles's fault.

The first time he met his niece post blackout was maybe seven years ago. Miles remembers the day well…

_Jeremy stuck his head around the door frame, an amused look on his face. "Hey Miles."_

"_Yeah, Baker. What do you want?" Miles was busy with tax reports and didn't bother looking up._

"_You have visitors."_

"_Tell them to go away. Not seeing anyone till this tax fuck-up is fixed."_

_Jeremy walked into the room then, "Maybe it's time for a break. You're going to want to talk to this girl, Miles."_

"_A girl?"_

"_Yeah, says she walked all the way from Wisconsin. Says she's your niece."_

"_My niece? Charlie is here?" He stared incredulously at Baker, "by herself? Where the hell is Ben?"_

_A short time later, a skinny girl with long braids walked in followed by a beefy guy with glasses. They are both road weary and covered in dust. Miles had ignored the man completely, focusing all of his attention on the girl. She had eyed him warily. "You're Uncle Miles?" One eye brow arches in surprise._

"_Uh, yeah. I'm Miles. I guess it's been a while."_

_She nodded, "Dad always said you were too busy being the President to come see us much."_

"_I'm sorry about that Charlie. I really am." Miles ran his hand through his hair, "What happened to your family Charlie? Why are you alone?"_

"_I'm not alone. Not really." She tilted her head toward the big guy, "He's been with me for a while now."_

"_But your family, Charlie? What happened to them?"_

"_They're all dead. Murdered. Mom said to tell you Andover did it. She said you'd take care of it. That was the last thing she said to me." Charlie's voice was low, her eyes hollow. "Was she right? Can you take care of it?"_

_Inwardly, Miles was boiling at this awful news. His heart broke (as much as his heart could) at the thought of what this young girl had been through. Outwardly, he kept his cool. "Kiddo, I promise you that I will take care of this, if it is the very last thing I ever do."_

_And take care of it is exactly what he had done._

_It had taken just over a week to locate the Andover clan. They were a wicked bunch of gypsy criminals who were always on the move. He caught up with them in Baltimore and painted the town red with their blood. When President Matheson and his men left the city behind, not one Andover clansman survived. He'd gone back to Philly and given Charlie a severely edited version of the events which had taken place. Once he'd assured her that they were all dead, she had simply nodded, satisfied. _

_Two days later, she and Pittman were gone._

After that, she came back to Philly once a year or so to visit her uncle Miles. The visits were always brief, but even so the two became close. There was nothing Miles wouldn't do for Charlie. She felt exactly the same way. In fact one thing Miles could count on every time she came to town was that she would tell him she owed him for avenging her family, and she would tell him that she would do anything he asked to repay him. Anything at all.

He'd always brushed off her comments of indebtedness. That was, until this last visit. This time, when she'd asked if there was anything she could do to repay him, he'd had an idea. It had seemed so simple really – a way to take care of two things at once. He could finally let Charlie do him a favor, and he could rid the world of his best friend's son. Two birds, one stone. It had all seemed so simple, until it wasn't. Bass was never supposed to be with Connor on the night of the hit. He certainly wasn't supposed to spot Charlie. When Miles had decided to send Bass to Chicago, he had been under the impression that Charlie and Pittman were heading south. Charlie had mentioned Florida...

Now, he can only stare into his drink, wondering how everything went so colossally wrong. He has an idea and yells for Baker.

"What is it, Sir?"

"Pack your bags."

"Okay…where am I going?" Baker looks surprised.

"Chicago. The extra troops I'd promised are heading out at first light. You're going to join them. Tell Bass you are there to help. Keep him occupied. If you see Charlie, tell her to get her ass back to Philly."

"Yes, Sir." Baker says, knowing there is no point in arguing when Matheson is in this kind of mood. The truth is though, that Baker doesn't hate this assignment. He genuinely likes Monroe and Charlie and Pittman too. If he can help them to not kill each other, it's worth a trip to the Plains. Baker quietly shuts the door behind him as he goes to pack. "This should be interesting."

* * *

The night is full black, but Bass can't sleep. His dreams are filled with long curly hair and piercing blue eyes. Lucy. In the beginning, his dreams of her had fueled his rage. There had always been blood and images of his dead son. He would wake up from those dreams shaking with his need to end her. Lately, he's been waking up with a very different kind of need.

For her.

He still wants the answers only she can give him, and he still wants her dead, but has come to realize that at least part of his subconscious wants her in another way entirely. He's starting to wonder if he's not losing his mind... again.

Needing some air, he walks out into the cool night. The tents are lined up as they always are, and tonight thankfully they are silent. He makes his way through the canvas maze, heading into the woods. Maybe a hike will make him tired enough that when he gets back to his tent, he can sleep without dreams of any kind. With this goal in mind he moves at a quick pace, his way lit only by the soft glow of moonlight that filters through the trees.

Unbeknownst to him, he is not the only one walking off a sleepless night. She spots him and can't help herself.

Quietly, and from a distance…she follows.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Enemy of My Enemy

Bass has only been walking through the dark forest for a half hour when he realizes he's not far from a small river town that the Militia had passed a few days ago. He's emptied the bottle of whiskey that he'd brought along, and he's getting thirsty again. He isn't totally sure of the political leanings of the little village, but figures nobody will recognize him either way. He's not wearing his uniform, and his hair and beard are the thickest they've ever been. He doesn't even recognize himself these days.

In a matter of minutes, he enters the town and zeroes in on the one and only bar. It resembles an old style saloon from the Wild West movies he'd watched with Miles as a kid, and this brings a smile to Bass's face – the first he's worn in months. It disappears as quickly as it had come. He just can't maintain any level of happiness or enjoyment for long. Frowning once again, he walks through the front door and takes a seat at a wobbly wooden table. A burly guy with an eye patch wanders over, "What can I do for ya?" the burly guy asks.

Bass looks him over and orders, "Whiskey or whatever you have around is fine."

Patch brings over a dingy blue jar filled with rotgut and Bass tosses it back with a grimace. He glances around, seeing only a handful of local farmers and random drunks – all minding their own business, which suits Bass just fine. There's not a soldier from either side of the fight anywhere to be seen, and Bass relaxes slowly into his seat, nodding for a refill when Patch looks his way.

He's on his third jar, when he decides he should probably call it a night and head back to camp. Bass stands, making his way over to the bar where Patch is wiping down some glasses. He pays for the drinks, and is turning away when the bartender stops him, "I got some gals upstairs if yer interested in parting with a little more of those stones?"

Bass starts to say no - not because he hasn't paid for it before. He certainly has. It's been his experience that the professionals are usually the best bet for a man such as himself. They don't care that he has no interest in a relationship. He doesn't care if he ever sees them again. It's win/win, but it has been a while. Bass tilts his head slightly, thinking back. Shit. It's been a while since he was with anyone at all – regardless of if he paid for it or not. Maybe a quick roll is exactly what he needs to clear his head. He turns slowly back around to face Patch, "Girls huh?"

The barman nods. "Yup. Got four ladies who are free tonight. What's your poison?"

Bass's mind flashes to long golden curls and bright blue eyes…. He frowns, forcing those thoughts away. "Yeah, okay. You got any gals with dark hair? Dark eyes?" Bass says with a little shrug. "Anyone like that?"

Patch grins, showing a set of crooked yellowed teeth as he nods. "Delilah has jet black hair and eyes like cocoa. She's in room six, up the stairs. Last door on the left." He holds out a hand, palm up, "Pay first. Play later."

Bass nods, giving Patch the stones he asks for before making his way up the stairs to room six.

* * *

Charlie watches from the roof of an old storefront across the street. Monroe may be a genius on the battlefield, but evidently he's an idiot when it comes to threat assessment. Charlie shakes her head ruefully, watching as he pays that one-eyed jackass Pascal for a hooker.

Charlie knows Pascal. He looks like a stupid hick, but looks can be deceiving - and in this case, they definitely are. He's a very bad guy, but also a very smart one and he runs this tiny town with an iron fist. Charlie was here once before, maybe a year back. Charlie was hunting a bounty that had ended up being one of Pascal's hookers. Sonia was wanted for murder in old Chicago and Pascal was such a rat bastard of a pimp that the girl had been perfectly willing to leave with Charlie. Pascal had not been so obliging however, and wouldn't let Sonia go without a fight.

Charlie had obliged, giving him one.

When Charlie left (with Sonia, of course), he had an arrow sticking out of his right eye, and was screaming that she'd better never step foot in his town again. Charlie hadn't cared. She had her bounty in tow and no intention of coming back. It was only on the way to turning the girl in that she and Aaron had learned the full truth about Pascal.

"Shit." Charlie says now, biting at her lip as Pascal himself walks outside, meeting with a shadowy figure who has just dismounted from a horse near the bar's side entrance. Charlie grabs her bow and her pack and she's on the move.

Time is clearly of the essence. She needs to warn Monroe. The Grim Reaper is in danger.

* * *

One of the advantages to being serviced by a prostitute is that there is no reason to delay the inevitable. Everyone knows why they are here. This is a business transaction, and nothing more.

Bass has been in Delilah's room for maybe two minutes when he's flat on his back, with his pants around his knees, and she's going down on him like the professional that she is. He leans back, closing his eyes and enjoying this woman's expertise in action.

When the transaction is complete, Bass sinks more deeply into the mattress, completely relaxed. He might have even fallen asleep right there if she hadn't started poking his shoulder with a pointy fingernail. "Sleeping over costs a lot more, Mister. You should go."

Bass opens his eyes and looks at her. She seems impatient for him to leave. "Fine." Bass mutters, yanking his pants up quickly and heading for the bedroom door.

He feels it suddenly – a shiver of dread. Something is off, but what? Turning, he glances at the girl again. She looks nervous. Why? "What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing." She says, not sounding even a little convincing.

Bass turns quickly when he hears a scraping on the other side of the door, and watches as a folded sheet of brown paper is shoved under it. He grabs the note with one hand, and the gun from his boot with the other, pointing it at Delilah, "What the fuck is going on?" he asks again.

She just shakes her head, staring at the gun with stark fear in her eyes.

With the gun still trained on her, he glances at the coarse brown paper. He unfolds it and reads the short note quickly.

"Pascal is a Patriot. Get out through the bedroom window. They're waiting for you out front." The note is not signed, but Bass knows who has left it for him. Why she's chosen to save his bacon twice is beyond him, but for this moment at least – he's thankful.

He looks at Delilah again. "Get on the bed. Put your hands up by the headboard."

She starts to speak but he shakes his head, "Scream and I will shoot you. Play nice and I'll let you live."

Delilah does as she's been told and he quickly ties her hands with the belt from her own dress. He finds a scarf on her bedside table, and shoves that into her mouth as a gag. Hearing footsteps in the hallway, he throws open the bedroom window. Crawling out, he shuts it quietly behind him before making his way down the old iron trellis that is attached to the building's exterior wall.

* * *

Charlie barely manages to get out of the whore house part of the bar intact. Pascal hadn't spotted her, but one of his girls had. Charlie had punched her in the face and the hooker had fallen to the ground in a pathetic little heap. Charlie didn't hesitate, shoving the quickly scrawled note under the only closed door in the hallway – gambling that it was the right one – before bolting down the back stairs and out the back door.

She'd watched from across the street as Monroe exited from the bedroom window. She let out a relieved sigh when she saw that he'd made it to the ground without injury.

* * *

Bass feels Lucy's presence like a spark on his skin, and he glances up sharply. It has been months since he'd seen her last, and the moment that their eyes meet again is surreal. He finds that he is strangely glad that she's okay. She has saved his life now twice after all, though he has no idea why…. He also is struck, once again, by her beauty. The torches that are lit in front of the bar cast the only light. In its glimmer, her hair looks like spun gold. He brushes these thoughts aside because he is also mentally thrown back to the last time he'd seen her, with his son's blood soaking into the ground all around them. It is this thought of Connor that overshadows the others.

He surges forward, suddenly tired of the bullshit. He wants answers, and goddamnit, he wants them now.

Charlie watches him running toward her for just a moment before she turns to flee. His expression tells her everything she needs to know.

Monroe is done playing games, and Charlie needs to run faster now than she ever has run before.

* * *

**A/N: For those of you who are mad at Miles after the last chapter…be patient, more will be coming in time that will explain his actions. For those of you who are begging for Charlie and Bass to meet already, the next few chapters should cheer you up. However, this will be the last update for this story probably for at least a week. Working on a bday fic for ChellyPam, the next chapter of Evermore and the epilogue for open mic. So…I'll be back to this, but it will be a little bit. Thanks for hanging with me (assuming you still are). I'm maybe half way through this story…**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Catch and Release

Bass barrels into the dark forest in hot pursuit of his son's killer. She's much shorter than he is, but she's nimble and quick on her feet. In flashes of moonlight that filter through the canopy of leaves above, he sees glimpses of flowing tresses and strong legs. Now and then he catches a look at her ass, perfectly toned and covered in tight denim.

Even if he doesn't catch her, the view is superb. He shakes that thought and forges on. She'll get tired sooner or later. His goal is to outlast her at all costs. He may be older, but never has there been a more determined pursuer than Bass Monroe.

Charlie is breathing steadily, not even a little bit winded. She'd passed the trail that led to her camp a half mile back, but had decided to lead him in a different direction. Aaron is probably sound asleep and the last thing he needs is to be awoken by General Monroe busting into camp.

Charlie laughs a little as she realizes she is literally being chased by the Grim Reaper. She can hear him as he crashes through the woods behind her, but she's not worried. She knows these woods pretty well, having explored them off and on for the past couple of weeks while hunting. She sees what she's been looking for – an old oak that has been strangely deformed by a long ago lightening strike. Charlie makes a bee line for it, but slows just enough to give him some hope. She can feel him closing in and she grins through gritted teeth as she sees it – her master plan.

She takes a deep breath and jumps –

Bass sees her leap. He's so close that when he reaches out, his fingers touch the hard muscles of her calf. He's off balance but not concerned, not until his boot lands on rotten wood and he's falling.

"Fuck!" he bellows as he grabs hopelessly for purchase during his descent. Surrounded by shattered boards and the damp of deep earth, he is dazed and groaning when he finally lands hard on his right ankle.

Frantically, Bass looks around. It's an old well – thankfully dry, but that is where his thankfulness ends. The space is four feet square and the walls are at least twelve feet straight up. He could maybe scale the walls but his ankle is screaming with pain. He prods it with a shaky finger. Sprained, not broken - that's good news, but doesn't help him get out of here. He's sitting on his ass, surrounded by broken boards and dirt and bugs. He leans against the side, eyes closed as he tries to devise a way out of this hole.

Bass tries to determine where he is in relationship to that shitty little town, or his camp. He has no idea, having lost all his bearings as he'd followed Lucy through the dark forest.

His eyes pop open as he remembers something – she'd jumped. She'd jumped at exactly the right time. Bass's mouth tightens into a grim line. That bitch knew about the well and she led him to it like sheep to slaughter. "I know you're up there." He growls out. "Planning to shoot a bolt through me?"

The silence drags on for a very long time and he's starting to second guess himself when he hears a sigh, followed by, "No. Not planning to shoot you."

"Gonna let me starve to death in this hole then?"

"No."

"What then?"

"I'm going to throw you a rope."

He watches the opening and sees no rope. "I'm waiting." He says.

"Not going to throw it to you yet." She answers, still not showing herself.

He doesn't know how to respond and closes his eyes again, "Whatever, you crazy bitch. Throw me a rope whenever you feel like it. I'm not going anywhere."

She doesn't say anything. Minutes pass.

"Fine." Bass grunts. He never has handled long silences well, "What are you waiting for? Why not give me the rope now?"

"Don't trust you." She mutters.

He laughs harshly. "You murdered my kid, and I'm the untrustworthy one? That makes sense."

"I killed him, yeah. I had my reasons."

"What are they? This I really want to know."

"Can't tell you that. Not yet."

Bass takes a deep breath, searching for calm. "So you won't throw me a rope YET, and you won't tell me why you killed my kid YET. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME?"

He almost doesn't hear her answer. He's breathing heavily and her voice is soft, but it's there and he can hear an ache just under her words when she says, "I don't know."

His fury fades as quickly as it had blossomed. He rubs at his ankle absently, wincing as a jolt of pain shoots up his calf. "Don't suppose you have any whiskey you'd share? Sprained my ankle falling into your trap. It hurts like a bitch."

"Sorry."

"Sorry you trapped me?"

"Sorry your ankle is hurt. Cover your head."

He does what she says without thinking it through much. A metal flask bounces down and thumps into the dirt at his feet. He opens it, hesitating, "Did you poison this?"

She grunts derisively. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have just left you to the Patriots – twice. Besides, I'm not one to waste whiskey."

He still doesn't trust her, but he senses truth in her words and takes a deep drink. The whiskey is smooth and flavorful. His eyes pop wide in surprise. "This is really good." He mutters.

"Should be for what I paid for it." She answers.

He takes another drink, "So what's happening here? You gonna sit up there forever?"

"Just till you go to sleep. Then I'll drop the rope."

"Why not drop it now?"

"Because I want a head start, that's why."

"I have a sprained ankle. You will have a head start – a big one."

"You could be lying."

"Whatever. I'm not going to sleep." He sounds churlish even to himself and frowns.

"Your call."

He can hear her rustling around near the mouth of the well. "What are you doing up there?"

"Getting comfortable." She answers. "Hungry?"

He is going to say no but his stomach growls and he sighs, "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Cover your head." She says again, and again he follows her instructions. A bundle falls on his thigh. He unwraps it to find an apple, a biscuit and four pieces of jerky.

He takes a bite of the apple. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Can I ask you a question?"

"I'm pretty much at your mercy here. Ask away."

"Was he your only kid?"

He swallows the bite of jerky he'd been chewing and sucks in a ragged breath. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I just want to know."

He hears a sadness in her voice and he finds himself wondering what her story is. No. He focuses on her question and pushes aside the stabbing pain it inflicts on his heart, "He was the only one I had left."

"I'm sorry."

He starts to say something but she's not done, "I know what it's like to lose your family. I know better than most. I hated the people who killed my parents and my brother…hated them so much that I wanted nothing but revenge."

"Did you get it?"

"Yes."

"And did it help?"

"No. It didn't help at all."

They are silent for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, he speaks up, "What's your name?"

She doesn't answer so he tries again. "In my head I call you Lucy. I don't know why."

"Keep calling me that. It's easiest."

"Are you ever going to answer any of my questions?"

"Maybe, someday." She says.

He's irritated but not terribly surprised, "Whatever."

More time passes and neither one speaks. She knows he's still awake because she hears him moving the broken boards around. He knows she's still there because now and then he sees a shadow as she walks between the well's opening and the moonlight above. He's actually getting pretty sleepy (though he'd never admit it out loud) when she finally speaks.

"So you like hookers?"

"What?" he had been sipping from her flask when she spoke and he sputters when he hears her unexpected question. Without even realizing it, he smiles. "All the things you could ask me, and that's what you're going with?"

"Just curious. Didn't know if the girl at Pascal's was a one-off or your usual kind of thing."

"Pascal? The one-eyed guy?"

"Yeah." She chuckles and he can hear the genuine amusement in her laugh.

"What?"

"He's one-eyed because of me." She says proudly. "That's how I knew he was a Patriot. Dealt with him a year or so ago. We didn't agree on something and…"

"You poked his eye out?"

"More or less." She agrees.

"Because he runs a whorehouse? So you asked if I like hookers because you have a problem with working girls?"

"Nope. I have a problem with asshole pimps who treat their girls like cattle. That's how Pascal is." She pauses and then continues, "I asked about hookers because I was curious. That's all. No judgment."

"It's just easier…not having any expectations. That's all. You wouldn't understand."

"Don't be so sure. Lost my virginity in a whore house down in New Vegas. Not my proudest moment, I suppose but it was okay."

This gets his attention. "Your first time was with a hooker? A girl or a guy?"

She laughs self consciously, "No, not with a hooker. He was a friend of the madam. She also ran a casino and a fight tent. Anyway a lot of people tried to cheat her out of money they owed. We both worked for her as bounty hunters. She knew I wanted to get the whole 'sex' thing over with. Was tired of wondering what it was like. He was nice enough… it was… I don't know why I told you any of that."

"Well, don't stop now." He leans against the wall of the well and puts his hands behind his head, relaxed. "Your story was just getting interesting."

"Then I must be telling it wrong. Other than the location, it was just about the most uneventful five minutes of my life."

"Five minutes? Shit. Hopefully you have since learned that it can take more than five minutes…that it should?"

"You were with Pascal's girl for about ten. That the right amount of time?" he can hear the smirk in her voice and laughs out loud. She's a pistol.

"It's different. That was business. I needed something. She was willing for a price. If it wasn't just business, I guarantee it would have lasted longer than ten minutes. I'd still be working at it now, in fact."

"Sure you would." She sounds both skeptical and intrigued.

"Jesus, you did try again didn't you?"

"Eventually. Can't say I was in a big hurry to repeat it right away."

"If nothing else clued you in, the fact that you weren't begging for a repeat should tell you right there…he was doing it wrong."

"Yeah, I do get that now. More because of a book I found than personal experience, but whatever."

"A book?" Bass cannot believe how far off course this whole conversation – or for that matter, the fact that they are having one at all – has gone, but he can't seem to help himself. "What kind of book showed you he wasn't doing all he could?"

"It was this collection of uh…short stories, I guess. I don't think they were true, but they were very… imaginative and descriptive."

"Short stories?"

"Yeah, like people telling about these sexual exploits they'd had. Aaron assured me real life isn't quite as exciting, but I can't help but hope he's wrong…at least a little." She sighs heavily, and he notices that she sounds pretty tired.

"Who's Aaron?" He hears a series of muttered curse words. Clearly that was an unintentional slip up. "The fat guy you travel with? So he's not your lover?"

"Ewww!" Charlie can't help herself, "No. He's family. Well, he's not blood, but he might as well be."

"He's probably worried about you right now."

"Yeah."

"So, throw me the rope and we can call it a night right now."

"No. Go to sleep."

"No." he retorts stubbornly. He hears her sigh heavily and then he hears something even more surprising than her admission that she'd punched her V card in a whore house and likes reading erotica. The sound is so soft at first, he's sure it's in his imagination but soon the sound becomes clearer and it's unmistakable. She's humming.

"Are you kidding me?" he asks, "Brahms's lullaby?"

"Shhh." She says before she begins humming again. The sound is soft and sweet and although he tries to fight it, Bass is soon fast asleep.

* * *

He wakes feeling stiff. His ankle throbs and the sun is shining right in his eyes. Shit. He had fallen asleep after all.

He rubs at his eyes blearily, glancing around. The first thing he sees is the rope. It hangs from the edge above and after he tugs on it a few times, he is assured that it's well anchored. She has tied knots at periodic points all the way up. He picks up her flask, noting the engraved "C" on the side before tucking it into his back pocket. He takes a deep breath and slowly makes his way up the rope.

At the top, he sees a sturdy stick which has a long strip of fabric tightly wrapped around the top. He's impressed at the make-shift crutch. Evidently she had believed him about his ankle after all. Next to it is another bundle like the one from last night. This one holds a chunk of hard cheese and another apple. There is second bundle as well. It is narrow and this one is wrapped in coarse brown paper. He opens it carefully. What's left of a book lies in the center, it's now loose pages are held together with a leather strap. The cover is faded almost beyond recognition but Bass reads the title and can't help the grin that grows across his face. "Letters to Penthouse, VIII". Tucked between the cover and the title page is a note:

"_Maybe you should read this instead of visiting Patriot hookers next time you need to work off some tension. Might be just as good and definitely will be cheaper. _

_Your camp is due north maybe a half mile. _

_You haven't seen the last of me yet, but don't bother looking. When I'm ready to talk, I'll find you. –Lucy_

_PS I really am sorry about your kid. Someday I'll explain. "_

His smile fades as he re-reads the final line. He eats quickly, washing down the cheese and apple with the last swallow from the flask. Slowly he gets to his feet. He leans heavily on the crude crutch for balance, before tucking the book into his waistband and slowly heading due north.

He doesn't even consider that she could be lying about his camp's location. In some twisted way, she's managed to earn his trust. He doesn't dwell on this new development much, focusing instead on taking careful steps over the uneven terrain.

He doesn't realize he's softly humming Brahms's lullaby till he reaches his camp, exactly where she told him it would be.

* * *

**A/N You'll see the next chap here before week's end. Leave a comment if you have a moment.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Fathers and Sons

Jeremy Baker gets to Monroe's camp with the promised soldiers early in the morning, only to discover that Monroe is nowhere to be found. He talks to the second in command – a nice enough guy named Washington – who says he hasn't seen the General since the night before. "He wanders off sometimes, but he's usually back by now…."

Baker frowns, trying to keep his worry at bay. Monroe should be with his men. Jeremy goes to the tent which Washington points out as belonging to the General. It is empty, save for Bass's weapons and unkempt bed. The sight of Bass's abandoned weapons, and the obvious indication that Monroe had left in a hurry, bring the first pangs of panic to Baker's gut.

He exits Monroe's tent and immediately sees a commotion on the far edge of camp. He briskly walks that way and his fear fades as he recognizes his old friend. Bass is limping into camp, leaning on a branch of some sort and looking much the worse for wear.

Baker stops short in front of Monroe, "What the fuck happened to you?" Bass is covered in scrapes and bruises. His left eye is swollen shut and his lip is split. His clothes are torn to shreds and he's being very careful not to put weight on his right foot. Clearly he's in a lot of pain.

"Fell in a well." Bass mutters. "What are you doing here?"

"Miles sent me along with the troops you ordered."

"Good." Monroe says, brushing past Baker.

"Uh, that's it? 'Good?'" Baker follows Monroe, his curiosity growing with every passing moment. "What about the well? How did you fall in? How did you get out?"

"Nothing to tell." Monroe growled. "I went to a little nearby town for some company and it ended up being a trap. Patriots ran the whorehouse."

"Let me guess. They threw you in the well?"

"No. Told you. I fell in. Was running."

"From the Patriots?"

Bass frowns, "Sure." He settles carefully onto the cot in his tent, rubbing gently at the ankle.

"Want me to call a medic?"

"No. Want you to leave me alone."

Baker is chuckling as he exits the tent, "Usually you're in a better mood after you got laid. She must not have been worth it."

Bass throws a boot at the tent flap, but Jeremy is already gone.

* * *

Charlie and Aaron watch Monroe's camp from their favorite vantage point on a hill that overlooks the valley. "We know that guy." Aaron says, nodding to Jeremy Baker.

"Who?" Charlie isn't paying attention to Aaron at all.

He narrows his eyes, watching Charlie carefully, "He's your Uncle's second in command, right?"

"Huh?" Charlie is distracted. Monroe looks pretty bad. The fall must have been a lot worse than she'd figured, although with as many broken boards as he'd fallen with, it makes sense that he'd be banged up.

"Charlie. Are you listening to me at all?"

"Not really. What were you saying?"

"That guy down there…the new one? We know him." Aaron points.

"Oh, yeah. Baker." Charlie says with a smile. "He's always nice. Gives me chocolate every time we visit Miles."

"So, what's he doing here? Does that mean your uncle is coming too?"

Charlie is thoughtful but shakes her head. Her eyes are on the camp again. Baker and Monroe had disappeared into the General's tent, but now Baker is coming back out. He's grinning, and Charlie takes this to be a good sign. "Nah. Miles wouldn't be able to leave Philadelphia right now. Too much political tension for the President to go on vacation. Besides, look." Charlie's points now. "There's like a hundred new guys. I bet Baker brought reinforcements for Monroe."

Aaron nods, "Yeah, you're probably right."

They watch silently for a while. Aaron turns to her, "Where were you last night anyway?"

"Went to a whorehouse, then trapped Monroe in an abandoned well before talking to him about porn."

Aaron closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. "Of course you did."

* * *

After Bass has rested and cleaned up, he meets Baker where he's sitting around a camp fire with a few soldiers. They are digging into plates of beans and dry biscuits. Someone hands Monroe a plate and he sits down with his dinner. "Sorry about before."

"It's okay." Baker answers. He can tell Bass doesn't want to talk about whatever is bothering him so he changes the subject, "I want you to meet some of the guys I brought with me." He gestures with his fork, "This is Samson. He's young but tough. Top of his class in last year's Militia Academy class."

The kid named Samson nods. He's a handsome kid. His skin is a dark chocolate brown and his smile is broad showing off perfect white teeth. "Nice to meet you, General."

Bass nods, "You too, Samson."

Jeremy points to the man to Samson's right. He's a bigger, older version of the boy and Bass is not surprised when Baker says this is Samson's Dad. "Big Sam was a soldier before the blackout. Army, right?"

The older man smiles as well, holding out a hand for Monroe to shake. "Yep. Army before the blackout and Militia ever since. I was going to retire this year, but decided I couldn't pass up a chance to fight at my son's side." The two share a warm glance and Bass feels a pang of loss.

"That's really nice, Big Sam." Bass says, his voice is sad.

"Oh hell," Big Sam says with a frown, "I'm sorry. I heard about your boy."

Monroe shrugs, "It is what it is." He is quiet after that, just watching the father and son as they laugh and joke with each other. There is so much love there. At some point everyone starts to drink and Samson and his father break out in song. They both have great voices and are belting out oldies. The group around the fire grows with each new song.

Watching them together makes Bass's heart hurt – not just for the fact that he's lost his son, but also because he and Connor had never had this kind of relationship – not even close. They'd argued a lot, hardly ever seeing eye to eye. They'd certainly never sat around chatting like the oldest of friends or breaking into song.

Bass finishes eating quickly and says good night. He then hobbles over to his tent and Baker follows, "You okay Bass?"

"Just thinking about Connor." He can't meet Baker's eyes.

"Sorry man." Bakes says with a sigh, "Sorry about your kid. Sorry we couldn't find the girl you sent us after." Jeremy is fishing with this comment, but he really wants to know if Bass has found her himself.

Bass is staring into space when Baker says this, but Jeremy is watching closely and sees the twitch around his friend's lips. "Yeah, well that's okay. She'll turn up."

Shit. Baker goes cold. Something about Bass's reaction worries him. One thing for sure – Bass wasn't expecting Baker to have an update on the girl. He wasn't even planning to ask. This means only one thing – Monroe knows Charlie isn't where they've been looking. Chances are Bass knows she's here somewhere. Maybe he's even killed her already. "You think so? She'll turn up?"

"I think when she's ready to show herself, she will." Monore smiles ever so slightly.

"Okay…" Baker isn't sure what to say. He can't ask more or offer more. Doing either would tip Monroe off to the fact that Jeremy knows more than he should.

* * *

Bass is lying on his cot with his foot resting on a log someone had brought by. Keeping his throbbing ankle elevated helps. He closes his eyes, thinking of Lucy. She is a complicated woman, that's for sure. He wonders what she's doing right now. He wonders if she's close by or if she's moved on.

A loud shout brings Monroe out of his reverie. Out of habit he grabs his sword belt and, swinging his legs to the floor, he starts to stand. He sits back down when pain shoots up his ankle. "Damnit." He takes a deep breath and grabs the crutch. Limping out of his tent, Bass finds himself surrounded by chaos. "What the hell is going on?" he bellows.

Baker runs up, "Patriots spotted maybe a half mile west. They're loaded for bear. We're preparing to fight."

Monroe nods, "I'll be ready in a minute."

"No, man. You sit this one out. I'll lead the men. You need to rest."

Bass starts to argue but his ankle hurts like a bitch. No way can he wield a sword while he's using the crutch and he can't walk without the crutch. "Fine. Be safe, and kick some Patriot Ass."

"Yes Sir."

* * *

Bass watches as the camp empties. Soon all that's left are a handful of soldiers who are too injured to join the fray (such as himself) and the cook. Bass feels helpless and this makes him grouchy. He watches the forest, wondering if she's out there, watching.

He catches a glimpse of something – a reflection maybe. Somehow he knows it's her and she's watching. He looks at the spot for a long time and then nods before turning back to his tent.

* * *

"Holy crap!" Aaron says in a harsh whisper. "I think he saw us. He nodded at us."

Charlie smiles slowly, "He's just guessing. Probably saw a glare off your glasses. Don't stress about it. He's in no condition to chase us down today and nobody else is here."

* * *

Three hours later, the men start to trudge back to camp. Bass walks out to greet them. He finds Baker quickly. His friend's face is dirty and streaked with blood. His mouth is set in a grim line.

"You lost?" Bass asks.

"No. We won." Jeremy answers, but he sounds like anything but a winner.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, we won, but casualties were…" he trails off as his eyes focus on a wagon that is pulling up next to them. Bass can see Big Sam in the back. He's hunched low in the bed of the wagon, watching over something. Jeremy takes a deep breath and continues, "We won, but casualties were high."

Now Bass can see what Big Sam is leaning over. It is the bloody body of his son Samson. "Dead?" Bass asks quietly, knowing the answer in his heart, but hoping he's wrong.

"Dead." Jeremy answers. "We lost twenty-seven."

Monroe feels his blood boil with rage at the Patriots as he watches this good man mourn the death of his son. "And the other guys?"

"We left no survivors, Sir."

"Good. That's good."

* * *

As night falls, Baker tells Bass that he's very worried about Big Sam. "He's not dealing at all. He won't leave his kid's body. I'm afraid he might try to hurt himself."

"Suicide watch?" Monroe asks, rubbing his temples.

"Yeah. I'm gonna take first shift."

"I'll sit with you guys. Won't be able to sleep anyway." Bass doesn't have to say why. Big Sam's wails echo through the camp. His grief is palpable and chances are, nobody will be able to sleep through the sounds of it tonight.

Monroe 's ankle is feeling better which is a small blessing. He follows Baker to a small tent on the edge of camp. They hear Big Sam long before they step inside. His grief is loud and raw as he sits on the dirt next to the cot where his son's prone body lies.

"Shit." Monroe mutters, his heart clenching at the sight of this strong man's pain. He and Jeremy sit on a narrow bench that sits on one end of the tent. From here they can watch without interfering.

An hour passes before Big Sam's sobs slowly fade into a numb silence. When he does eventually speak, his voice shakes, "Was my only boy….my best friend. Don't know…" he pauses, shaking his head. "Don't know how to go on. My world only worked cause he was in it."

Baker leans forward, his elbows on his knees, "His Mom?"

"Died of cholera some ten years ago. Our little girl too. Just been me and my Samson ever since. He's all I got… all I had."

Monroe clears his throat, "I am sorry. I know that is no help. It's just words, but I'm sorry."

"Well, you know what it's like. You lost a son. Nothing like it, I'd wager. Nothing like losing a child." Big Sam lies down in the dirt, exhausted. "You all can go. I won't be killing myself. Not today. My boy deserves better than that. I just want to be here with him for a bit longer."

Baker stands and Monroe does as well. "We're not far if you need us….If you need anything."

Big Sam turns bloodshot eyes toward the men, "I want a good burial for Samson. Can you help me with that? I want him to have a quiet spot maybe under a big tree?"

"Of course. We'll make the arrangements in the morning."

Big Sam nods and then curls into a ball and goes to sleep on the dirt next to his son's cot. Monroe and Baker let themselves out. The next shift will be starting soon anyway. They'll let the next guy know he can sit outside the tent. Big Sam is probably no danger to himself, not tonight anyway.

Baker sees the anguish on Monroe's face. "You okay?"

"Nah. I wasn't prepared for that."

"Bring back memories about Connor?"

They are making their way back to the center of camp and Bass stops, his eyes full of tears. "No. That's not what I meant. I…" he shakes his head and looks off into the darkness. "I was a mess when Connor died but when I grieve for him, it's for what we could have had together, not for what we actually had."

Baker pats Bass's shoulder, "Wasn't your fault you met him so late."

"Doesn't matter. We had five years. I think if we'd had twenty, we never would have been all that close. He fought me at every turn. Never wanted anything to do with me really. Shit." Bass is moving on again. Each step causes him to grimace but he soldiers through it heading toward his tent. Baker follows.

"Well, you can't blame yourself for that. Wasn't your fault. You tried everything."

"Yeah, I did. None of it worked. You know, the night he died…it was the first time my kid and I laughed together."

"What?"

"Always before that - if Connor laughed around me, it was at me. Truth is he was an asshole." Bass takes a shuddery breath. "He was an asshole kid, but he was my asshole kid and now I'll never know if we could have worked through any of our shit."

"I'm sorry Monroe. This just sucks." He watches as Bass ducks into his tent and begins shoving his spare clothes and a few other items into his pack. "What's happening?"

"I'm leaving."

"What?" Baker isn't sure what's going on, but this isn't part of the plan. "You can't leave."

"Yeah, I can." He pauses, staring at the items in his hands. A tattered book, held together by a thin leather strap and a silver flask. He tucks both into his bag and closes it before strapping on his swords and shoving his pistol in the waistband of his pants. "I'm done. You can lead the men. Tell Washington I'm done. He's a good man. He'll do whatever you say."

"What?" Baker stares uncomprehending. "But you can't – "

"Yeah. I can. I'm Leaving." He holds out a small cloth bag. "Use this to get a coffin for the boy. Bury him in a place that makes his Dad happy. Give Big Sam the rest."

"Where are you going?" Baker asks as Monroe exits his tent and starts walking toward the woods.

"South."

"What's south?" Baker asks. "You going to Texas?"

"Not that far south. I'm thinking New Vegas has everything I want right now."

"New Vegas? That place is a shit hole. What is it exactly that you think you want right now?"

"To forget." Monroe looks at his friend with sad eyes, "I just want to forget." He turns then and in moments has been swallowed by the darkness of the night.

"Shit." Baker growls, knowing better than to follow. When Monroe gets his mind made up, nothing is going to change it. "Shit." He says again.

* * *

Charlie and Aaron had moved closer when dusk began to fall. Charlie wanted to know what was happening. Clearly, the big black guy's son had died. His grief echoed through the valley. Charlie's heart aches for him, because she knows that kind of grief first hand.

Aaron doesn't say anything. He just listens and watches at her side. They see Monroe and Baker talking and watch as the General packs and heads into the woods. They don't hear every word, but they hear enough.

"No." Aaron says, shaking his head emphatically. "No. No. NO."

"Yes." Charlie says with a curt nod. "We're going to New Vegas."

"I hate it there. You know how much I hate it there."

Charlie laughs a little and ruffles Aaron's hair. "We're going."

"But SHE is there. Charlie, I hate her. Hate isn't even strong enough. She's evil incarnate. Also she terrifies me."

Charlie is already heading toward their camp so they can pack. She glances over her shoulder. "Oh come on Aaron. Duncan isn't so bad. You guys just need to give each other a chance."

"Last time we were there, she put me in stocks, Charlie. Stocks! It was like one of those cheesy medieval fairs gone horribly wrong."

"You shouldn't have implied her dealers were cheating."

"But they WERE cheating. All I did was point out the truth."

"Maybe this time you keep your mouth shut. I'm going to New Vegas and that's final. Maybe she'll even give us some work while we're there. I always liked working for her."

Aaron's shoulders sag in resignation. Duncan Page may scare the shit out of him, but letting Charlie go into that horrible excuse for a town by herself – that scares him more. "Oh Fine."

"Seems like someone needs an attitude adjustment?"

Aaron shakes his head and then plasters on a fake smile, "We're going to New Vegas. Whee!"

"That is much better." Charlie says with a smile. "Come on, Aaron. Sin City awaits."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all the comment love. It's been awesome to see the responses to this little story. Next chap by mid week.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Fighting for Coin in a Whorehouse

Duncan Page runs a whore house, a fight tent and a casino in the heart of New Vegas. She is feared and respected and manages her little empire with an iron fist. When her right hand man Scanlon comes into her trailer without knocking, she frowns, "What?"

"New guy in town you might want to see. Offering to fight anybody."

"And is he any good?"

"Won his first four bouts so far."

"Against?"

"Jarvis Tooms, Big Dick, Bobby K and Horatio."

Duncan's frown fades into thoughtful curiosity. "He beat Horatio?"

"To a bloody fucking pulp. Big Dick has a broken jaw. Tooms and Bobby weren't hurt as bad, but still they got pounded."

"Who is this new guy?"

"Calls himself Jimmy King."

* * *

Aaron and Charlie ride their horses over the final hill of their journey south from Chicago. "There she is." Charlie says with a happy sigh as they see New Vegas in the valley below. "Home."

"New Vegas is home to diseased hookers and dirty circus freaks. This is not our home." Aaron has been grouchy for the whole trip.

Charlie isn't letting his bad mood get to her. "I always loved it here. There's something raw and alive about this place."

"Pretty sure the same can be said for gonorrhea."

"Be nice or I'll tell Duncan you have a bad attitude." Charlie warns with a smirk.

Aaron knows there's no turning back now. "Sorry. What I meant to say was 'there's no place like home'."

* * *

Monroe sits in the shithole trailer he'd rented on his first night here. His intention on getting to town was to get drunk and stay that way. Maybe get laid. His mind had been solely focused on finding a bar that was clean enough to sit down in when he'd been approached by a weasel of a guy. "You look like a scrappy son of a bitch. You fight?"

"What?" Bass had been in no mood for bullshit.

"I run a fight tent. I need fresh blood. I can tell you're new in town and you have the look."

"What look is that?"

"Deceptively non-threatening."

"Non-threatening, eh?" Bass is amused. Evidently that stupid newspaper story hasn't made it this far south, or maybe he just doesn't look like the guy in the picture anymore. Either way, this guy clearly doesn't know him as the Grim Reaper.

"Well, you're skinny but all tight and muscle bound…." The little man sizes Bass up carefully.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll show you just how deceptive that non-threatening vibe is."

"Sorry. No offence. Was just thinking that you'd be a tasty draw. If you fight well at all, the ones that like to see blood will come running. Whether or not you fight well, the ladies will come to watch you fight. Win/win."

"Win for who?"

"Me of course, name is Gould. The pay is good, and I'll pay rent on your trailer. You in?"

"What the hell. Sure."

That had been days ago. Since then he's been in several fights and he hasn't lost yet. He fights whenever Gould tells him someone is ready. Between bouts, he gets shitfaced and falls into bed, exhausted. Thus far, he's not bothered with any of the working girls, but he's feeling an itch.

He washes up in an old metal tub of lukewarm water and puts on the cleanest clothes he has with him. Then he sets out for some entertainment of the female variety. He doesn't even fight the images of Lucy that assail his brain lately. It's unhealthy – this attraction he has for his kid's killer, but so be it. He hasn't seen her since the well, but he knows he'll see her again. For now, he just needs a distraction… preferably one with long dirty blond curls.

He's heard that if he wants a clean lay, he should find Duncan's tent. Supposedly that's where the best girls are, so that is where he heads.

* * *

Duncan's trailer door bangs open without warning for the second time today and she growls, "What?"

"Hey Stranger." A cheerful voice says.

"Charlie?" Duncan grins and stands, walking over to embrace her old friend. "It's been too long, Kid. Why are you in town?"

They sit down on the narrow couch that is attached to one wall of the trailer. Charlie sighs. "I've been following this guy."

"And he's in New Vegas?"

"I think so. Was wondering if you might know the answer to that."

"Well, give me the details. What's his name? Who wants him and what did he do?"

Charlie stares blankly for a moment, and then she shakes her head, "No. He's not a bounty. I've just been following him. For…personal reasons."

Duncan grins, "Well, color me intrigued, Kid. I want details."

Charlie fills her old friend in on all that has transpired, starting with her meeting with her uncle Miles. "So, this guy doesn't know why you killed his kid?"

"No."

"Gonna tell him?"

"Probably not. He needs to hear that from Miles."

Duncan nods thoughtfully. "So why are you following him?"

Charlie shakes her head slowly, "I don't know, Duncan. I just can't get him out of my head."

"Ah."

"Ah, what?"

"You want him."

"No. It's not like that."

"Maybe not yet…." She shrugs, "Regardless, haven't heard about anyone named Monroe. I'll tell you if I do. Where will you be?"

"We're gonna camp out past the old warehouse."

Duncan rolls her eyes, "We? You brought Grizzly Adams?"

"Be nice. He's family."

"Whatever. If I hear anything, I'll send word with Scanlon."

"Thanks Duncan."

"You bet, Kid."

* * *

Bass finds Duncan's whorehouse easily. He meets with a guy named Scanlon and tells him what he wants. Scanlon is all business and brings out a girl within five minutes. "Jimmy, this is Anna." He cocks an eyebrow questioningly.

Bass looks her over. She's petite with long blond curls. She'll do. Bass nods and hands over the required payment. The girl leads him through a crowded bar and down a long corridor. She opens a door and they enter a small bedroom. Anna closes the door behind them. "What's your poison, Jimmy? For what you paid, you can have anything you want."

He sighs, surprised at just how unappealing all of this seems. "Take off your clothes and turn around."

She does as he asks. He walks forward and touches her hair. It's soft under his fingers and he feels the first stirring of desire. Placing his other hand on her hip, he pulls her body close. "Lucy." He whispers.

"Call me whatever you want, Sugar." The girl whispers huskily.

He closes his eyes tight. This is not going to work. "Sorry. I can't do this."

She turns and places a hand on his crotch, rubbing gently. "I can help." She offers.

He pushes her away gently. "No. You can't."

Her expression goes stony. "You already paid, buddy. No refunds."

"Keep the money. I don't want it back."

Anna shrugs, "Whatever." Then she begins to get dressed and Bass lets himself out.

He walks back into the bar and sidles up to the polished wood. A toothless bartender walks up and Bass orders a whiskey. He feels the presence at his side before the woman speaks. "Did Anna do something to displease you? We pride ourselves on quality service."

Bass looks toward the source of the voice. She's in her thirties. Brunette. Kind of hot in a hard as nails kind of way. "Who are you?" he asks, ignoring her question.

"Name is Duncan. This is my place."

He takes his drink from the bartender and stares into it as he answers. "She's fine. Nice girl. Just not the right one."

Duncan understands. "Good to know. I don't like my girls to disappoint." She looks the man over carefully. "You're new in town. Fighting for Gould?"

"Yeah."

"Where you from?"

"Thought this was one of those places a person could come to escape from who they were and where they came from?"

Duncan smirks, motioning to the bartender for a drink. "True. Just wondering if you had some history with Gould? Some loyalty to him?"

"He's a sick little cock sucker and I have no loyalty to anything except the diamonds he pays me with."

"Maybe you want to upgrade? I run a fight as well. Fight for me, and I'd pay more. Also you could stay in one of the rooms here and I pay a bonus for every win."

"I'll think about it, okay?"

"Sure, Jimmy. It's Jimmy, right?"

He pauses and then nods. "Yeah, call me Jimmy."

"When can I get an answer?"

"Does your room include a bath?"

"Yeah. Hot water too. I could even round you up a change of clothes."

"You had me at hot water."

"Do you need medical attention? I have an old guy on my payroll who used to be doctor. He could look at that cut on your jaw."

He absently touches the scabbed over gash, "Nah, it's fine."

"Get that in a fight?"

"Nope. Fell in a well."

Duncan freezes as her mind begins to whir. This is the guy Charlie had mentioned. "Well, if you change your mind, tell Scanlon. He'll get things set up."

"Good to know."

"Are you supposed to fight for Gould tonight?"

He nods. "Yeah, I am."

"Fine. Fight for Gould. Win, of course, and then tell that ass that you belong to me now."

"I don't belong to anyone, lady."

"Fair enough. Tell him you are working for me now. Scanlon will meet you after the fight and show you to your room."

Bass downs the last of his drink and stands. "Allright. I'll meet up with Scanlon after the fight."

* * *

Charlie and Aaron are sitting around a camp fire behind an old warehouse on the outskirts of New Vegas. They are eating soup out of big mugs when Scanlon walks up. "Duncan wants you to go see her."

"Now?"

"Yeah. She thinks she found your guy."

Aaron groans. "One more reason for me to hate her."

"Be nice." Scanlon and Charlie say in unison.

Charlie looks at Scanlon, feeling her heartbeat accelerate at the prospect of seeing Monroe again. "She found him?"

"Yeah. He's fighting, and doing well. Has been working for Gould. Calls himself Jimmy King."

"Of course he's working for Gould." Aaron says, scrunching up his nose. Gould is another reason Aaron hates this town.

Scanlon ignores Aaron. "Duncan talked him into jumping ship and fighting for her. She wants you to get to her trailer as soon as possible. She has a plan."

"Of course she does." Charlie says with a wide smile. She pats Aaron's hand. "I'm going to town. See you later."

"What am I supposed to do while you're off playing with Duncan?"

Scanlon shakes his head, "You're in Sin City. Surely even you can come up with something to do here."

* * *

"So, what exactly do you want from this guy?" Duncan watches Charlie carefully. "You want to fuck him?"

"I…uh…I don't know." Charlie is caught off guard by the forward question.

"Well, you should. He's hot as hell." Duncan says, fanning herself for effect.

"Yeah, that I had noticed." Charlie says carefully.

"Have you ever watched him fight?"

"Only on the battlefield, with swords and from a distance."

"Come with me. From what I hear, we're in for a treat."

"Where are we going?" Charlie asks.

"Gould's. Your man is fighting tonight."

Charlie feels tension and heat course through her. "He probably shouldn't see me there."

Duncan shrugs, "Then he won't."

* * *

Bass's opponent is a lanky guy named Murphy. He has a shaved head and tattoos covering all exposed flesh. Bass is tired, but ready. Unlike the other guys he's had to fight since coming here, this one is a pretty equal match. Both Murphy and Bass are about the same weight and Murphy proves right from the beginning that he is agile and a quick thinker.

They punch and kick and the crowd is going nuts. This could easily be a win for either guy. Monroe takes a right to his split jaw and he can feel it smash open in an oozing bloody mess. He gets in a couple solid hits of his own and then Murphy throws a roundhouse punch that knocks Bass to his knees.

Bass spits blood, his eyes dazed. He needs to win this but he's fading. Exhaustion and physical pain are finally taking their toll. He sags, falling onto his palms and almost surrenders then and there – just to be done with it.

But then he glances up, and he sees Lucy. He knows she's a figment of his imagination – she has to be - but even dream Lucy brings him out of his funk – giving him just the surge he needs to finish this. He stands and turns to face his opponent. Murphy is grinning, clearly thinking this is almost over.

He's right.

Bass pulls back and kicks high and hard, crushing Murphy's chin against his chest. The sound of something (probably Murphy's jaw) cracking, sends a chorus of moans through the audience. Monroe watches as the other man crumples to the floor. Gould walks out and raises Bass's arm high, handing him his winnings in a brown bag.

Bass searches the crowd just to be sure. Lucy isn't here. He takes his things and heads out of the tent. Scanlon is waiting. "Good fight, Jimmy. Come with me. I'll show you your new digs. Pretty sure you'll find them an improvement over whatever hellhole Gould had you sleeping in."

"An actual hellhole would be an improvement over that dump." Bass wipes at a bloody lip. "Let's go."

* * *

An hour later Bass is lying in a big tub full of warm soapy water. He feels almost human again. In addition to soap and bandages, Scanlon had given him a change of clothes and a little bottle of pills 'for pain' he'd said. Bass took five and he's feeling downright happy as he soaks.

* * *

"How many did he take?" Duncan asks Scanlon.

"A handful."

"Shit. You better move fast Charlie. He'll be out cold in no time."

"What am I supposed to do, exactly?" She asks nervously.

"Just like I told you, and you know…play it by ear." Duncan smirks happily. She loves being the puppet master.

* * *

Bass is humming a song. His eyes are closed. The water is cooling down quickly now and drowsily he realizes he'll have to get out soon. Motivation is lacking, however.

He hears the door to his room open. "Who's there?" he asks, unworried.

"Towels." Comes a soft female voice.

"Mmmmkay." He mutters.

The girl deposits the towels and then he can hear her soft footfalls as she nears the tub. He is far too sleepy to care, but does stiffen momentarily when he feels warm hands grasp his tired shoulders. "Oh, damn." He groans. "Don't stop doing that."

The hands continue to work their magic on his sore muscles. Now and then he feels the gentle brush of long hair as it glances across his shoulder blades. In his mind, he sees her again and his cock begins to thicken with want.

* * *

Charlie hadn't meant to touch him. She just wanted to see him up close, but then she'd seen the broad shoulders and damp curls as she approached from behind and she just couldn't help herself. She wonders if he even knows he's making those tiny purring sounds as she works the kinks out. Glancing over his shoulder, she sees his hard chest and flat belly. She sees his knees poking out of the water, and then she sees something else. "Damn." Charlie swallows nervously, watching as his dick grows harder with every movement of her fingers. Monroe is far more impressive physically than she'd have ever thought from a distance.

* * *

He senses that the girl has moved closer. He can feel hardened nipples pressing against his shoulder and he can't help himself. Still with eyes closed, he turns his head and kisses her. At first, his lips brush only her cheek. He refuses to open his eyes and ruin the illusion. In his mind, he is kissing Lucy.

She moves ever so slightly, and now her lips are on his and the heat of this kiss is beyond volcanic. Bass turns, sloshing water as he puts a hand at her nape, holding her closer. She moans against his mouth and he slips his tongue into her heat and searches and caresses. She gives as good as she gets, taunting him with nipping teeth and dueling his tongue with her own.

His hand moves deeper into her hair. It is long and full of luscious curls. He hesitates, remembering the glimpse of Lucy from the fight, the glimpse he'd convinced himself was not real.

But what if?

No. Can't be.

Can it?

He leaves her mouth to kiss the column of her throat and it is in this moment that she speaks. Her voice is soft and full of passion and the word she speaks is unmistakable in the silent room.

"Monroe."

Even under the influence of some wildly successful pain medication, Bass is aware enough to know that nobody here knows his real name. His eyes fly open and he pushes back from the girl.

Not just a girl.

Her.

"Lucy?" he croaks out. She stands, looking equally nervous and aroused. He stands as well, his legs shaky from the effect of the pills. His dick throbbing and hard from her kisses. "What the hell?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Sorry." She whispers, drinking in the sight before turning to rush from the room.

He wants to chase after her, but he can't. His body feels like jelly – well almost all of his body. He stares down at himself and sighs. He'll figure out what the hell happened later. Why she was here and what was happening between them. Right now, he can barely focus. He staggers to the bed, dripping, and falls onto the clean sheets with a sigh.

As his mind drifts into unconsciousness, the last thought he has is of her and the way her lips had felt on his.

* * *

**A/N Sorry. I know…I'm a tease. I promise you'll get that which you seek – eventually. Haha Should have another chapter by mid week. Also, for those paying attention to The Battle of Evermore – it's my turn over there, and my next chap will be published in the next couple of days as well. Thanks to Ice for reviewing this chapter and being a wonderful sounding board as always. Please leave a review if you are so inclined.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Heartburn

Monroe wakes up slowly and stretches. He's sore but feels rested, which is a nice change. It's been a while since he slept thoroughly enough to feel rested afterwards. His head is foggy though and he opens one eye and then the other, slowly acclimating himself to his surroundings.

Oh yeah. New Vegas. Fighting for Gould. Fighting for Duncan.

He sits up and stares at the tub.

Lucy.

She was here. Lucy was HERE. In his god-damned room. He is assailed by hazy memories of warm, firm fingers massaging tired muscles. He remembers the feel of hardened nipples against his back and the soft brush of long hair against his throat. And that kiss. Shit. That really happened.

He kissed his kid's killer and the truth is that he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her. Bass runs a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. Nothing makes sense. All he wants is answers, and he's tired of waiting patiently to get them.

He needs answers now.

The only way Lucy could possibly have known where to find him, is if someone told her where he'd be. Bass gets up and slowly starts to dress in the clean clothes that are lying out on a chair by his bed. Only two people knew where he was staying last night. Duncan and her man Scanlon.

Bass needs to find Duncan.

* * *

Aaron and Charlie are heading out of New Vegas in a manner that differs greatly from how they had arrived. "I could get used to this." Aaron says with a smile as he pats the wagon seat.

"Are you ready to admit Duncan isn't so bad?"

Aaron's smile fades a little, "Not just yet. You ready to tell me why we went all the way to New Vegas only to turn around a day later?"

"I need to wrap this thing up, Aaron."

"This thing?"

"Monroe. I need him to know the truth."

This gets Aaron's attention. "The truth? Thought you wanted to drag this cat and mouse thing out?"

"Not anymore."

"What changed?"

She doesn't answer right away. "I want to know him. I want him to want to know me. I want him to not look at me and see the person who ruined his life. I want…"

"You want him."

Charlie lets out a long sigh. "Yeah, I want him."

Aaron has known Charlie longer than just about anybody. He knows when she's determined. She's determined now. "So what's next?"

"We lead him to Philly. Seems like it's time he has a heart to heart with his best friend."

* * *

"She's not here." Duncan doesn't even glance up from the ledger she's writing in. She'd been expecting Monroe for the last hour.

"Where is she?" The relaxed feeling he'd woken with is long gone. Now he just wants to find Lucy and get to the bottom of all of this.

"Gone. Left town this morning."

Bass has had it. "No!" He sweeps an arm across Duncan's desk, clearing it of papers and small leather bound ledgers and all the other odds and ends that had sat atop it.

Duncan stands slowly. Monroe has her full attention now, and she is pissed. "You don't talk to me like that. Not now. Not ever."

"I need to know where she is."

"I've known you for twenty-four hours. I've known her for years. I'm not going to tell you shit. Besides, she doesn't want you to follow her yet."

Bass looks at Duncan blankly, "What are you saying?"

"You have a fight tonight. When it's over, I'll tell you where she went. I'll even give you a horse."

"Why tonight?"

"She wants to get to her destination before you catch her."

* * *

President Miles Matheson stares at the letter in his hands. It's from Jeremy, who is stuck in the Plains leading the damned army that Bass was supposed to have in his control. He hears a knock on the door and looks up to see Major Will Strausser.

"Come in. Did you get what I needed?"

"Yes, all of it. Notes from interviews and interrogations. There are old court documents from before the blackout and even hospital records. That shit was hard to come by, and that's why it's taken me this long to deliver it."

Miles thumbs through the reports and smiles at Strausser. It is the first genuine smile he's worn in months. "Finally, we have proof."

* * *

They've been traveling in silence for over two hours. This isn't unusual for them. Over the years, they've developed a familiarity that flourishes even in complete silence. Aaron is getting antsy though and Charlie notices. "What?"

"Did you have time to really talk to her? Duncan, I mean."

"I totally knew who you meant. Yeah, I really talked to her – obviously." She motions to the wagon.

"Did you talk about…" he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "Cynthia?"

Charlie sighs, "Maybe she came up."

"She wasn't there. In New Vegas I mean. I asked around while you were doing….whatever it is you were doing…and nobody's seen her in a long time."

"If you'd found Cynthia, what would you have done? What would have you said?"

"I would have told her I was sorry for how things ended last year. I shouldn't have told her that she was wasting her life working for Duncan. I would have apologized for all of it. I'd say I was sorry for losing my mind, but I wouldn't stop there. I would also tell her that I love her and that I've thought of her every day since…"

"Wow."

"I'm not done." Aaron says a little more forcefully than he'd meant to. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Go on."

"I would tell her I love her and if I still was the millionaire I once was, I'd rent a stretch limo and I'd stick my head out the moon roof and I'd have roses and she'd be on her balcony and I would sweep her off her feet…" he stops then, out of breath.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Charlie says. "Stretch limo?"

"It's from an old movie. This guy falls for a hooker…"

"Ah! I get it." Charlie smiles. "You really love her?"

"Yes, I really do."

Charlie lets out a long sigh. "I'm going to miss you."

"What does that mean?"

"Duncan told me where Cynthia is. She told me to tell you if you ever got your head out of your ass."

"Where is she?"

"After you two had your thing and you tried to break her out and got run out of town instead, she went to Duncan. She said she wanted a fresh start. Duncan agreed. You know, she's not the wicked slave master you always made her out to be…"

"Whatever. Where is she, Charlie? Where did she get a fresh start?"

"She's teaching school in a little town in Ohio. I can drop you off on my way back to Philly."

"What if she doesn't want to see me? What if she can't forgive me?"

"She already has, you big idiot. Duncan wouldn't have told me anything if Cynthia hadn't been on board."

Aaron smiles slowly, finally his grin is so wide, it almost splits his face. "We should be driving faster."

* * *

Bass knows Duncan would like him to leave, but he settles into the chair across from her desk instead. He watches as she collects the things he'd knocked on the floor. "How do you know her anyway?"

Duncan sighs, "She was sixteen or so. Came into town with - " She stops, tilting her head and watching Monroe carefully before continuing, "with her friend."

"Aaron. She let it slip once. I know his name is Aaron. Why were they here?"

"She was hunting her first bounty. Followed the guy here. He was staying with one of my girls, and the girl you call Lucy came to me. She told me why she was here and detailed her plan. She was respectful and wanted my approval before making a move in my territory. I liked her spunk and I helped her get access to the room where he was staying."

"So, last night wasn't the first time you've let her into a guy's room?"

"No. Not the first time." She smirks.

Bass watches her curiously. Duncan is attractive and feisty. Under other circumstances, he might pursue her. His head is wrapped up in Lucy though. "She told me she lost her virginity in a whore house. Your doing?"

Duncan laughed, "She was itching to experience it for herself and she was far too beautiful and innocent. I was afraid she'd be hurt or taken advantage of. She was hunting for me by then – tracking down anyone who owed me money. It was a good relationship. I had another guy working for me in a similar capacity. I merely put the wheels in motion for the two of them to get together."

"And?"

"And it was done and over with. She came to me and said she didn't know what the big deal was. She and Aaron moved on not long after. They come back now and then. They were back a year ago and Aaron and I had some issues."

"Issues?"

"He fell in love with one of my girls and tried to steal her. He also made a big scene in my casino, accusing my dealers of cheating."

"Were they?"

"Yes, but that didn't mean I wanted to have it advertised."

"So, where are they?"

"I'll tell you tonight after you fight."

Scanlon steps in just then. "You might want to move up your timetable Duncan."

"Why would I do that?"

Scanlon hands her a piece of paper. She reads the words on it and looks at Monroe. "Do you know a guy named Neville?"

"Yeah. He's an asshole. I know him from back home. Why?"

"Because he's here and he's asking if anyone has seen you around. Word is he was spotted talking to a group of Patriot soldiers."

"Shit."

"Maybe the fight is a bad idea. Maybe it's time for you to go home?"

"Home?"

"Pennsylvania is your home, isn't it Monroe?"

"Yeah, but why – "

"I think you should skip the fight and go back home to Philly."

"Wait, is that where Lucy is headed?"

Duncan looks at him for a moment, deep in thought. She seems to make a decision and nods. "Yes, she's headed to Philly. She assured me you'll get all your answers there."

Bass was already on his feet. "Can I buy a horse from you?"

She nods to Scanlon, "Help him get whatever he needs so that he can get on the road, and if you see this Neville character, let's make sure he doesn't ask any more questions. "

Bass is given a bag of provisions and a fast horse and is on his way within the hour.

Monroe smiles grimly, determined to find Lucy well before Philly. She'll have no way of knowing he's a day ahead of schedule, so it shouldn't be too difficult to catch up to her.

* * *

As dusk settles, Aaron and Charlie find a place to camp for the night. It is not far from a creek. Charlie grabs her soap and a change of clothes and tells Aaron she's going for a swim. He readies the camp after she leaves, singing softly to himself as he works. His mind is on Cynthia and the fact that he'll soon be seeing her again.

Bass had caught up to them by mid afternoon, but stayed far enough back that they hadn't spotted him. He's been waiting for the right moment to approach. From his vantage point on a nearby hill, he sees Charlie leave Aaron at the camp. Perfect. It's time. He carefully makes his way down the hill, leaving his horse tethered to an ancient maple.

As Monroe walks quietly past the camp, he can hear the fat guy singing to himself. He shakes his head. It's been a while since he heard anyone sing _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ and the sound of this guy's off key version makes him smile.

He finds Lucy's trail easily and soon he is hearing the sound of moving water. The setting sun casts gold and pink lights through the trees and when he finally sees her, he sucks in a deep breath.

Lucy is a beautiful woman, but naked and wet - she is exquisite. Her back is to him. Her skin glistens in the waning light. Her wet hair hangs heavily against sculpted curves. The water moves around her, lapping softly at the perfect curve of her ass.

Damn.

She doesn't turn, but when she speaks, it's clear she knows he's there. "Do you like what you see?"

He does not hesitate. "Yes."

"How about now?" she turns slowly and Bass feels like his body might explode with the rush of lust that fogs his brain and turns his cock to concrete. She walks slowly through the water toward him. His eyes are glued to her perfectly rounded breasts and rosy nipples. His gaze slides down her flat belly and across the luscious swell of hip as the water moves and swirls around her thighs, lapping at dark wet curls.

"Still yes." He says, his voice hoarse. Bass has to make a conscious effort to drag his eyes from those luscious tits as she emerges from the water and approaches. He meets her eyes. They are a startling blue. He realizes that even though they had kissed just the night before, this is the first time he's seen her up close. Really seen her.

He sees her, and she is even more exquisite up close.

"You are supposed to still be in New Vegas." She says, placing a damp hand on his chest.

Her fingers are burning through the fabric and singeing the flesh beneath. He knows he should hate her. He knows he should reach into his waistband and pull out the gun nestled there. He should pull out that gun and shoot her dead.

He should.

He can't.

This time when they kiss, they both are fully aware of what they are doing and who they are doing it to. The heat is expected this time, though it burns no less vividly than it had the night before. As if they have a mind of their own, Bass's hands move to grasp the smooth globes of her ass. He squeezes gently, pulling her close. Bass feels her body, bare and smooth, under his exploring fingers.

She sucks his tongue between her lips and bites down on it firmly. He growls against her mouth, smiling in spite of the sting.

"Sorry." She says.

He chuckles, "It's okay. I like it rough."

"Wasn't apologizing for that."

Bass is only half paying attention to her words. He's far too busy reaching between her thighs, delving past the curls, finding her wet – and not just from the water. He loves the feel of her hot pussy around his fingers. "Then what are you sorry for?"

"This." Aaron Pittman says from behind him, and then the world goes dark in a flash of pain.

* * *

Bass wakes up with a throbbing headache and the realization that he is tied to a tree. "What the hell?" he yells in frustration as he yanks on the ropes.

"She tied you up pretty tight. There's really no point in trying to get free."

Bass focuses for the first time on the man sitting across from him. It's the fat guy, Aaron. Aaron is casually eating an apple and watching Bass curiously.

"What?" Bass asks, irritated.

Aaron shrugs, "Trying to figure you out."

"That why you hit me?"

"Nope. I hit you because she isn't ready to – "

"To fuck me? I beg to differ. She – "

Aaron holds up a hand, clearly uncomfortable, "Don't be crude. It's bad enough that I had to witness … that. Ugh. I shouldn't have those images of her in my head, okay?" He shivers just a little, "No, what I meant is she wants you to know the truth before anything else happens between you two."

"The truth?"

"Yeah. It's a pretty big deal for her. She needs you to know why she did what she did."

Bass's head feels like its splitting in two. "Just fucking tell me! Why all this secrecy? I know she did it. Why can't she tell me why? Why can't you?"

"It's just not that easy. You need to go to Philly. She's pretty stubborn and that's her plan. That's where the answers are."

"And then?"

"Then we'll see."

Bass sighs. Clearly he's not getting what he wants tonight. "So, what now?"

"Well, I need to apologize." Aaron says, taking another bite from his apple.

"For what?" Bass asks blankly.

"For this." Lucy says from behind him, and for the second time tonight, Bass Monroe's world goes dark.

* * *

**A/N: One more chapter here, I think. Maybe two. Leave a comment if you have a moment.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I know I've been kind of a tease with this story… I've brought them so close a couple times, but then nothing happened. Consider this chapter the end of 'nothing happening'. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Chapter 11: Full Circle

Bass Monroe knows pain. He once had shrapnel buried in the side of his face after a munitions accident. Another time, he had fourteen stitches across the top of his skull after a run-in with a Taliban soldier in Afghanistan. He's been shot on four different occasions and had been stabbed more times than he can count.

Right now, his head feels like it will crack in two at any moment, and he thinks that this hurts worse than any of those other times he'd felt pain. "Fuck." He mutters, gently probing at the twin goose eggs on the back of his head. He looks around and sees that he's alone, but that they've left a few things for him. In spite of his pain, he chuckles at the familiar looking brown paper wrapped packages.

He rips open the first one. It holds three green apples, a wedge of hard cheese and a biscuit. A second package holds a canteen full of water and a small envelope. On the envelope is a note written in her now familiar script.

_Scanlon gave me these. They are the same thing that you took in New Vegas. Don't be an idiot. Just take one. It will help with the pain. Go to Philly. The answers are there, and I'll be there too – in a week or so. –Lucy_

_PS Sorry about your head._

It is the mention of Scanlon that sends Bass scrambling into his pants pocket. Bass breathes a sigh of relief when his fingers grasp the piece of paper that Duncan's right hand man had slipped him on his way out of New Vegas. The writing is not as carefully crafted as Lucy's note had been, but it brings a smile to Bass's face none the less.

_Cynthia Norris, Belltree Ohio_

Scanlon had handed Bass the paper along with the horse's reins. He'd spoken in rushed but quiet tones, "She's headed to Philadelphia, but she's making a stop on the way to drop her friend off in this little piece of shit town about an hour due west from what used to be known as Cleveland. When you get there, ask for the name on this paper. She's an old friend of Duncan's. Your Lucy will probably stick around the area for a day or two, but Cynthia's house is tiny. Not much room for visitors. Decent chance she'll stay at the inn on Main Street."

Bass had started to say thanks, but Scanlon was already gone.

Now, back in the present; Bass stands and leans heavily against the tree he'd been lying under. He swallows one of the pills dry, putting the envelope in his pack along with the food. He slings the canteen around his neck and looks around for his horse. He smiles when he sees she's tied up not twenty feet away.

He takes a piss and then saddles up. Nudging the horse's flanks with the heels of his boots, he urges her on.

Screw Philadelphia. Monroe is getting his answers in Ohio.

* * *

Charlie and Aaron travel for three days. They arrive in Belltree, Ohio just before lunch time and they ask a guy on the street if he knows where they can find a Cynthia Norris. The man is helpful and gives very specific instructions to a small farm. Charlie stops at the inn on Main Street and rents a room for the night and then they are on their way.

As the little farm house comes into view, Charlie can tell Aaron is anxious. "You all right?" she asks him.

He frowns, "I don't know if I should stay here – assuming Duncan was right and Cynthia even wants me?"

Charlie laughs, "Don't be an idiot Aaron. She loves you and the two of you deserve happiness."

He still looks uncertain. She pats his shoulder, "Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."

Aaron looks at her and lets out a long sigh, "I know you'll be fine. You've been able to take care of yourself since the day I met you, but you are my family. It's hard to think about leaving you behind for something silly like this."

"Love isn't silly, Aaron. You are lucky to have found it. Don't let me get in your way."

He nods and his smile grows. "Okay, but you know if you ever need me for anything…"

"I know."

* * *

Bass had watched Lucy and Aaron approach the inn from the window of the room he'd already rented. Since he was on a horse, and the other two had to deal with a wagon, he'd been able to get to Belltree a full eight hours before they did. He'd found the inn easily and flirted with the front desk clerk so that when he asked for a favor, she'd been happy to agree. Now, true to her word, the girl at the front counter had made sure to give Lucy the room that adjoins the one she'd given Bass earlier in the day.

He smiles. Finally things are working out in his favor. He takes another pill for his headache and gets to work. He has a lot to do to get ready and isn't sure exactly how long it will be till she gets back.

* * *

Charlie feels a pang as she watches Aaron and Cynthia reunite. There are hugs and lingering looks and professions of love and lengthy apologies. They have eyes only for one another. Charlie is happy for them, but reminded of just how empty her own life is. Maybe someday she'll find love for herself. Maybe.

For now, she agrees to eat with them before heading back to town. They have a meal of venison steaks, mashed potatoes and green beans, followed by thick slices of apple pie. Everything is courtesy of Cynthia's hard work on the little farm.

Aaron is the happiest Charlie has ever seen him, "I could get used to this." He says with a broad grin.

"And you will." Charlie says, standing. "Cynthia, dinner was wonderful, but I have to go. Walk me out Aaron?"

He does. She promises to write and he does the same. They embrace and are both misty eyed when they part. "Thanks Aaron, for everything you've done for me over the years. When I had nobody, you were there to become my family. I'll never forget that."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you. You gave me something to live for. I've watched you grow from a scrappy little kid to a fierce woman. I'm proud of you Charlie. Are you sure you won't stay here? I'm sure Cynthia would love to have you."

"No, Aaron. I won't stay, but don't worry. You can't get rid of me that easily. I'll be back for a visit. Now, go to your lady and show her how much you love her."

He nods, "Yeah, okay. I'll do that. Goodbye Charlie."

"Bye Aaron. Take care."

* * *

She gets to the inn and the girl who works the front desk – a cute gal with red hair and big green eyes – takes her to her room. Charlie gets the feeling that this girl doesn't like her much, but she has no idea why. She thanks the redhead and then goes inside. There is already a tub of steaming water waiting along with a bottle of shampoo (a true luxury), some soap and a couple freshly laundered towels. She strips quickly, sinking with a sigh into her bath. She doesn't even notice when the door between her room and the next one over, slowly cracks open.

Charlie washes her hair twice and soaps every inch of her skin, scrubbing off the dirt and grime that had accumulated on the road to Ohio. Finally clean and rinsed, she stands and steps out of the tub. She dries off carefully and then pulls on a fresh pair of panties and a clean white tank.

She walks to the window and is watching the street below when she feels it, the gentle press of a knife's blade at her throat. "Like your bath?" she hears the rough voice ask.

Shit. Monroe is here.

"It was nice. Your work?" She acts calm on the outside, but her pulse is racing, "The shampoo was a nice touch."

"Well, I wanted you to be relaxed before we start." His lips are near her ear and she feels a shiver of anticipation. He smells like the same soap she'd just used. Clean of grime and sweat, she is reminded of just how incredibly sexy he is.

"Start what, exactly?" she asks, her breathless voice betraying her.

"Your interrogation, of course." He answers. "Sit in the chair." He motions toward a sturdy wooden straight back chair that sits toward the middle of the room. She doesn't move right away, so he presses the knife more firmly against her throat. "Sit." He says again.

She does as he asks, somehow confident that he won't actually hurt her. "I'm not telling you anything. I told you we'd talk in Philly. This isn't Philly."

"I'm tired of waiting." He ties her wrists behind the back of the chair and her ankles to the chair's legs. He checks his work, pulling at the knots. As he does this, he leans in close and places a kiss against her throat, before biting down lightly on her ear lobe. She shudders and he smiles. "Seems like you're tired of waiting too."

"Don't know what you're talking about." She says through gritted teeth. No, he's not going to hurt her, but that is actually more worrisome than if he planned to. Pain is one thing. She can handle pain. This ache building in her core is something else entirely. What if she can't say no?

"Yes you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about, Charlotte."

Her eyes jerk up to his, wide with surprise.

He nods, "I asked at the front desk after you checked in. Olivia was happy to help me out with some info. Charlotte Porter, it's nice to officially meet you."

Thank God she'd used her mother's maiden name instead of her own. It was a habit when she was in the Republic. The name Matheson was not one a person used if they wanted to lie low. "The pleasure is all yours, Monroe."

He genuinely laughs at this, the skin around his eyes crinkling alluringly. He has a beautiful smile and perfectly white teeth. "No, I assure you, Charlotte. I won't be the only one experiencing pleasure tonight." He looks her up and down, his eyes burning. "And please, call me Bass."

She sucks in a deep breath as he falls to his knees between her thighs. Her panties are thin cotton and the tank is so worn, it's almost sheer. She feels totally exposed, but not in a bad way. Her pussy is throbbing as blood redirects to the place she wants him most.

He seems to have read her mind. Placing hands on her knees, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to her fabric covered mound. The touch of his lips, firm and smooth against her heated flesh – even with the cotton barrier - sends shockwaves through her body. He ups the ante when he nuzzles his nose against her pussy, inhaling deeply. "Mmmm, you are going to taste so good."

"Maybe you could find out now?" She asks, arching slightly, inviting closer contact.

He chuckles, "No. Not yet. Patience, Charlotte."

Charlie can't help but moan when he licks the crotch of her panties, from ass to clit. It feels so damn good. Her moan turns to a whimper as he pulls away, balancing on his heels, watching her with a smirk. "Sorry, Charlotte. Unless you are going to start talking, I'm going to spend hours working you up into a frenzy. You'll get the release you crave when, and if – I'm satisfied with the answers you give me."

"Shit." She mutters, biting her lip. "Not gonna tell you much."

"We'll see." Monroe says, picking his knife back up from where he'd laid it on the floor. Carefully, he uses it to slice her tank from neckline to hem, exposing the inner curves of her breasts and her flat belly. "God, you're beautiful." He says.

Charlie tries to focus on anything other than the way he is sliding the torn bits of her top out of the way. She tries to ignore his gentle touch as he strokes and caresses the soft flesh before leaning in to suck gently on a nipple.

Focusing is hard. "Oh hell." She moans.

Charlie feels the grin that interrupts the sucking, but he is back on task quickly. Without warning, he bites down on the nipple. Charlie cries out with the shock of it, but he quickly follows the bite with gentle licks and kisses to soothe the sting.

She's pulling at her bindings, aching for more contact. He pulls away to blow warm air against the tender flesh of her breast. Charlie's chest rises and falls heavily. Holy hell, this man knows how to drive her crazy. "What do you want to know?" she asks.

"What was he involved in?" Monroe's almost playful expression from moments before morphs into an intensity she's never seen before.

"What do you mean?"

He sighs, "Okay Charlotte. Have it your way." He picks up the knife again and Charlie freezes as he runs the tip from her sternum to the elastic of her panties. She's holding her breath, but she needn't have bothered. His control of the knife is complete. The blade never breaks her skin, though in moments the panties have gone the way of her tank. He puts the knife aside once more, placing a palm on each thigh.

Charlie tries to close her legs, but he's having none of it. She watches him as he takes in the view. His eyes rise to meet hers and he licks his lips deliberately, holding her gaze.

"Oh hell." Charlie says as he dips his head between her thighs. This time when he licks, there is no fabric to get in the way. Her thighs begin to shake as he repeats the route over and over. He never stays in one place for long, feathering the rough surface of his tongue from the puckered rosebud up through the slippery folds of her pussy, and over her hyper sensitive clit. Then he's back to the beginning, repeating the motion all over again.

Charlie is almost in tears from the way her body is humming. She can feel her orgasm building and she arches closer, urging him to sink that clever tongue inside her heat. He pulls back, balancing on his heels once more. He's grinning wickedly as he wipes her juices from his beard. "So you like this?" he asks.

"What do you want to know?" She asks, panting. Charlie can hear the pleading tone of her voice. She isn't sure she even cares anymore. She needs him to finish what he started.

"What was Connor involved in? I've been thinking about it – running every conversation through my head – some things don't add up. What was he involved in?"

She shakes her head, "Can't tell you that."

"Can't or won't?" he asks. When she doesn't answer, he shrugs before leaning close and sucking the nipple he'd neglected before. As he licks and sucks, he reaches between her legs and strokes her clit in a rhythm that matches what he's doing with his mouth.

She's flailing against her ropes, bucking against his hand. He slides two thick fingers into her tight pussy while still rolling his thumb over her clit. He brings her to the very edge and then pulls away from her completely, watching with hooded eyes as she cries out in frustration. "Ready to talk?"

She shakes her head no with a jerk.

He nods thoughtfully. "Tougher than I expected." He says thoughtfully. He stands, towering over her and reaches for his belt. It's Charlie's turn to lick her lips in anticipation as he unbuttons and unzips. His cock springs free, thick and long and achingly hard. He lets his pants slide down his thighs before shuffling closer. Charlie's eyes grow wide at the sight of his rigid penis, so close – so tempting.

"Do you want a taste?" he asks with an arched brow.

She nods and he moves closer still. Inches are all that separate his throbbing dick and her hungry lips. He puts a finger under her chin and tilts her head high so that their eyes meet. "I'll warn you Charlotte. If you bite me, I'll never ever let you come."

"I don't bite." She grounds out.

"Good to know." He whispers, moving forward. She opens her mouth and leans as far forward as she can. Wrapping her lips around the head of his cock, she strokes his slit with her tongue before swirling it around and sucking him deeper.

She releases his dick with a pop. "Untie me and I can do a much better job of this."

"Okay." He pants out raggedly, reaching down for the knife.

"Okay? That's it? You're just going to untie me now?" She is confused but relieved.

"All you ever had to do was ask." He says with a laugh as he slices through the ropes that had bound her wrists and ankles. She shakes them out for a moment, stretching sore muscles.

"You're an ass." She mutters.

"Yeah, that's what I hear. Where were we?"

She smiles just a little, reaching up and grasping the base of his cock as she takes him back into her mouth. He throws his head back, loving the feel of her mouth on his dick. His eyes are glazed when he looks down and sees she's using her free hand to work her clit as she sucks him.

"Stop that." He growls.

She releases his dick and looks up at him questioningly. He leans down and pulls her hand away from her pussy. Charlie moans, but then he jerks her to her feet. Their bodies are pressed tightly together. "You'll come when I decide you deserve it and not one fucking minute earlier. Do you understand?"

Charlie nods and then the building need is suddenly more than either one of them can take. Their lips crash together in a heated kiss. Monroe picks her up and tosses her onto the bed, following to hover. His cock is hard and he rests it between her legs. He kisses her lips and her throat. He bites down lightly on her ear. Her hands are everywhere. "What was my kid involved in?" he asks again, roughly.

She shakes her head no, but wraps her long legs around his waist which lines his cock up with her drenched pussy. "Just fuck me already. We can talk later." She says.

He presses the head of his cock against her opening. She's so wet and he wants to shove in deep, but he holds there. Charlie pivots her hips, trying to take him in but he holds her in place. "If you want more, you have to answer my damn question." His brow is beaded with sweat as he fights every impulse to pound her into the mattress.

Charlie is a mess of unfulfilled need and raw nerve endings. She's never wanted anything as badly as she wants his cock. "I'll tell you, but I need more first."

"Why should I believe you'll tell me more later?" He's panting.

"Why should I believe you will follow through if I tell you first?"

Their eyes meet in a fierce stare of stubborn wills. "Good point." He mutters before plunging home. Charlie cries out as he stretches and fills her. She lifts her hips to meet each thrust.

Monroe has never felt so perfectly sheathed and he can't hold back at all. The pace is ragged and urgent. They are both panting and yelling. They change positions because she wants to ride. He is more than happy to oblige. As he watches her slide up and down his cock, he plays with her tits and fondles her ass. Later, she's on her hands and knees when he finally lets her come. Plowing her from behind, his finger tips gripping her hips, he gives her the words she needs "Touch yourself Charlotte. Come for me."

It doesn't take much. A few fast strokes of her finger and she's uncoiling around him. Her pussy clenches fiercely at his cock and he goes over the edge just moments behind her, pumping her full with his own release.

They collapse onto the bed, side by side. As their breathing returns to normal, Charlie lifts up on one elbow to look at him with a smirk, "So, it seems like maybe you read my book?"

He laughs, "Yeah. I did. Wasn't hard to see what you might like. A few sections were a lot more worn out than the others…"

"The ropes were a nice touch, though I might have killed you if you dragged it out much longer." She's laughing, but watches his smile fade. Charlie can see his thoughts shift as clearly as if he had a big sign hanging over his head. Connor.

She lies back down with a sigh, "I can't tell you everything, because I don't know everything. Here's what I do know. Your kid was a Patriot spy."

Bass closes his eyes tight. Over the last few weeks he'd started to suspect as much, but it hurt to hear it out loud. "Are you sure?"

"The guy who gave me the orders would not have done so without being absolutely positive." She pauses, "Monroe, there's more. He wasn't just a spy. He was an assassin for the Patriots and he'd been given a list of Matheson Republic citizens to eliminate. My order was to get him before he could start his list."

This is unexpected. "What?" Bass sits up, "No. That can't be…" Even as he says it, he knows in his heart that she tells the truth. All those times Connor had snuck off at night…Bass had always assumed he was meeting with a girl. And there was Connor's amazing knowledge of weaponry even though he'd never fought in the Militia. A million small details all fall into place in that moment. "Shit."

"I'm sorry. I really am. For all of it." Charlie is running her fingers through his curls.

"Let's not talk about it anymore." He pulls her close. "Let's not talk at all."

Slowly, he begins to stroke and touch. This is much different than their first time together. "Thought you like it rough, Monroe?"

"Sometimes I want it rough and hard. Sometimes I want it slow and gentle. That okay?" There is a sadness in his voice, a raw emotional ache.

She wants to comfort him and pulls him close for a kiss. It is sweet and delicate. She moves her lips along his jaw and sucks at the flesh behind his ear. Her voice is a whisper, "We totally rocked the rough and hard. Slow and gentle sounds good to me too, Monroe. Really, really good."

He smiles against her mouth, "Slow it is then, and Charlotte?"

"Yeah?"

"Like I said before, you can call me Bass."

* * *

He wakes up the next morning to an empty room. He's not surprised by this, though he finds that he had hoped he'd wake with her in his arms. He sits up and stretches. When he sees the note on the side table he stands and walks over, picking it up.

_Bass,  
If you want to know the rest, you need to talk to my uncle. He's in Philly. I'm pretty sure that you know him already. _

_Last night was amazing. You are amazing. Maybe someday…but then again, maybe not. _

_You decide._

_Charlie Matheson  
(aka Lucy – aka Charlotte Porter)_

He reads the words three times before the implication completely sinks in. His eyes are wide with surprise as the paper flutters, forgotten, to the floor.

"Matheson. She's a fucking Matheson."

* * *

**A/N: One more chap coming soon and this one will be wrapped up! Leave a comment if you'd be so kind.**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Forgive and Forget

Charlie stares at the façade of Independence Hall. She should probably go in and talk to Miles. After all, she's come all this way. She should march into his office and warn her uncle that Monroe will be here soon and that he knows.

She should.

She can't.

Charlie closes her eyes, remembering the night she'd spent with Monroe. Flashes of gentle probing fingers and lingering kisses plague her brain. She remembers the passion and the intensity. She remembers the way her body had responded to his every whim. If those were her only memories of him, everything would be fine. She'd be hopeful and smiling.

She is not smiling and her hope has faded.

Yes, she remembers the hours of mind blowing, Earth shattering, life altering sex. Charlie shudders at the thought, and her core responds to the mental stimulation as well. The trouble is that she also remembers watching him collapse into the street over the body of his blood covered son. She remembers the rage and the pain and the hate – all directed at her.

Patriot spy or not, Connor was still Bass's child. They can both pretend that they can put it behind them. They can try to say that it's all in the past and move on, but how? Charlie killed HIS KID. Someday he's going to remember how he felt that day. The hate will return and with it, his need for revenge. Charlie can't be with him knowing that at any moment the other shoe could drop. No. There is no future for her with Monroe, and no reason to talk to Miles today.

Charlie lifts her chin stubbornly and turns her horse away from this place. She needs to get away from here. She needs to distance herself before she runs into him. Philadelphia fades into the horizon as Charlie leaves the city behind. She pretends the tears that stream down her face aren't for him, but of course they are.

Somehow she has managed to fall for the one man on Earth she can't possibly have a future with.

* * *

President Miles Matheson sits at his desk, reviewing a stack of reports. If anyone had told him in the beginning just how much paperwork was involved in this job, he'd have run the other way instead of going into politics. Too late now. That ship has sailed. With a heavy sigh, he flips to the next paper in the stack, but looks up at the sound of a knock on the door.

Strausser enters. "He's here."

Miles has been waiting for this day. He doesn't have to ask who Will is referring to. "Send him in." Miles says.

The last time Bass had been to Independence Hall, he'd been a mess – distraught, angry, vengeful, and on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. Miles isn't sure what he expects, but it's not the man who walks into his office today and casually sits in the visitor's chair. Monroe is clean and looks rested. He's not smiling, but he's not exactly frowning either.

"Bass." Miles says, unsure how to get this conversation started.

"So, you ordered a hit on my kid?" Monroe asks calmly, looking his oldest friend in the eye. "Didn't think that might be something you'd want to talk to me about? Sent me on a fucking wild goose chase looking for Connor's killer - knowing exactly who it was I was looking for and why she did it?"

"Shit. It's not like that."

"So, he wasn't a Patriot spy? You didn't order your niece to kill him like a dog in the street?" Bass's voice is calm, but his eyes are cold. "Or you're going to say you really wanted to tell me, but just couldn't? Charlie told me a lot, but I want to hear it from you."

Miles stands, "She told you – " Miles breaks off, his gut filled with dread. "You talked to her? Is she okay? What did you do to her, you son of a bitch? Where is she?"

"I don't know where she is, Miles. Haven't seen her in a few days."

"Did you hurt her?"

Bass remembers every detail of his night with Charlie. His memories come in flashes of long limbs and deep thrusts and amazing hours of pleasure between her perfect thighs. It is those memories that have kept him going ever since he'd found out her true identity. "No. She's fine. Just tell me about Connor."

Miles slumps back into his chair, watching his friend in silence. Something about the way Bass stares him in the eye Miles believe him. Charlie is okay. He exhales and then speaks carefully, "Yeah, Connor was a spy. That's true. Not just a spy though."

"She said he was an assassin with a hit list."

Miles narrows his eyes, "She told you a lot. Were you torturing her?" Something flashes across Bass's face – a glimmer of something – a memory. Miles feels the dread returning. "Bass, how did you get her to talk?"

Monroe leans back casually in his seat, "You really don't want to know."

Miles closes his eyes as realization hits home. He suddenly knows why Bass seems so relaxed and Bass is right – Miles doesn't want to know any more about that. "Yeah, she was telling you the truth. Connor was going to start knocking us off, one by one…"

Bass leans forward, "Us? You were on the list?" This news brings him to attention. Planning to kill nameless faces in the Republic is one thing. Planning to off the President is something else entirely.

"Yeah I was on his hit list. So were you." Miles speaks softly, hoping to cushion the blow. He's not completely successful.

Bass is stunned. "My kid was going to kill me?"

"Yeah, but actually there's more that you need to know…"

* * *

Hours later, Bass Monroe staggers into his home. He looks around blankly. The place has been closed up for months. It is dusty and stale. He feels numb after his talk with Miles. Numb and empty.

Nothing is as it seems. Nothing ever was.

Bass wonders when he will see Charlie again. Miles assures him that she'll be back, although he doesn't have a sure fire way to reach her. "She's a nomad, Bass. She just shows up."

Bass feels numb but somehow he knows that everything will be okay as soon as he can see her again.

* * *

A month passes, and then another. Bass officially resigns his job as Sheriff. Nobody is terribly surprised. His heart hasn't been in it since he returned.

The Patriot war is over. Baker returns home a hero. Neville is tried and executed for his work in the spy ring which Connor had been part of. Bass gets occasional messages from Miles, but none of them include the news he yearns for. Nobody has seen or heard from Charlie.

Bass sends letters to Duncan Page and Aaron Pittman, asking them both if they've seen her. He's received no response. He loses more hope with each passing day.

Where could she be?

* * *

When he gets the battered letter in the mail, it has been six months since the night they'd spent together in Ohio. Bass has sold his house and is packing his things when the messenger stops by.

"Good thing you caught me." Monroe tells him. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Where ya headed?"

"Not sure. Gotta find someone. Don't know how long it will take or if I'll even come back."

Everyone knows the story of Monroe and his kid by now. The messenger nods sadly, "Good luck buddy. Glad you were still here to get this."

Bass nods, staring at the vaguely familiar script. He misses the days of postmarks. There is a code scrawled in one corner. He points to it. "Where did this come from?" he asks.

The guy looks at the code and ponders for a moment. "New Vegas or thereabouts, I think. Not sure."

Bass shuts the door behind the messenger and sits down at his kitchen table. He's not sure what he expects, but it's not what he finds. Inside the first envelope is a smaller one that looks even more battered than the first. He sees it was addressed to Duncan Page, and he wonders what on Earth she might have received that she's sending to him.

Bass opens it carefully and smiles a little when he sees the heavy card inside. He doesn't think he's seen a real wedding invitation since well before the blackout. Flashes of memory assail him from long ago. Elegant white gowns, tuxedos, making toasts, dancing with bridesmaids, bachelor parties… He always had been a sucker for weddings…

_Cynthia Norris and Aaron Pittman  
cordially invite you to join them as they unite in marriage  
September 19 – 4pm  
Belltree Ohio_

So Cynthia had invited Duncan to her wedding, and Duncan had forwarded the invitation to Bass. That can mean only one thing. Charlie will be at Aaron's wedding. Bass lets out a deep breath as relief surges through his body. He's going to see her again, but he has to hurry.

Bass has two days to get to Ohio.

* * *

Charlie feels like an idiot. She hates dressing up and surveys her reflection in the full length mirror. The dress is a simple pale blue that hangs almost to her ankles.

"You look beautiful." A familiar voice says behind her.

She turns with a weary smile, "Hey Scanlon, how was the trip?"

He shrugs, "Fine. You know Duncan. She hates to travel and isn't Pittman's biggest fan so there was a lot of bitching, but she adores Cynthia." He laughs, "Glad it's over and we're finally here. Where have you been lately?"

She's looking at the mirror again. "Everywhere. Nowhere. Trying to find a place to call home I guess. Never felt a need for roots before, but lately…"

"You love him, don't you?"

She's surprised by his change of topic, but Scanlon has known her a long time. He always has been able to read her emotions. "Who?" she asks, her expression unreadable.

"That guy Monroe. You know, he's been looking for you."

"I heard."

"Sent Duncan a letter, asking if she knew where you were."

Charlie stiffens. "Did she tell him anything?"

He shakes his head, "No, Duncan didn't say anything at all."

* * *

Bass gets to Belltree at 3:45 on the day of the wedding. No way is he going to make the ceremony, but the invitation had also mentioned a reception. He goes to the inn. The same girl from last time is sitting behind the desk. "Olivia." He says, flashing her a flirtatious smile.

She grins, but then seems to remember something. "You're here for her aren't you?" Olivia doesn't wait for an answer. "We're completely booked so I can't give you the adjoining room this time."

"But?" he senses there is something Olivia can help him with.

"You might be able to persuade me to give you the spare key to her room." The girl holds it out, but pulls it back when Bass reaches out. "Promise me something?"

"What?" He looks skeptical as she presses the key into his palm.

"If this thing doesn't work out with her, find me?"

Bass frowns at the girl and hands the key back to her. He'll find Charlie with or without a key to her room. "Olivia, the truth is that this thing has to work out. It has to work out because I'm pretty sure I love her."

* * *

Scanlon isn't usually into this romantic type of stuff, but has to admit Aaron and Cynthia's ceremony was really nice. Charlie had been standing next to him and he'd noticed the tears she'd shed as the couple said their vows.

Clearly watching these two swear their undying love for one another is causing her emotional distress. He hates seeing her like this. Charlie deserves happiness. Scanlon bites his lip thoughtfully. He's always made a point to stay out of the love lives of others. Now that he's broken his own rule, Scanlon wonders if he's done the right thing.

* * *

Bass looks around the reception, searching every face. She's not here. "Shit." He mutters, wondering if he should go back and wait for her at the inn. Just then he spots Aaron and the woman who is clearly his bride. He walks straight to them, "Hey Aaron."

"Oh goody." Aaron says with a sigh. "The Grim Reaper has come to our wedding."

Cynthia shoves an elbow into his side, "Be nice."

"Yeah," Bass agrees. "You should listen to your lady. After all, I'm not holding it against you that you tried to give me brain damage the day we met. You could at least be civil."

"Oh, well… sorry about that." Aaron says sheepishly, "It's just that I didn't realize she was inviting you." At Cynthia's blank stare, Aaron raises an eye brow. "What, you didn't invite him?"

Cynthia shakes her head, "I don't have any idea who he is."

"It was me. I invited him." Bass turns to see Duncan's man Scanlon, smiling sheepishly. "Come with me." He says, motioning to Monroe. "We need to talk."

* * *

"So talk." Bass says. He's irritated and has no clue what Scanlon is up to. "It was you who sent me the invitation, not Duncan?"

"Yeah. I knew even before you guys left New Vegas that Charlie really liked you. There was something there that had been missing. It was like you woke her up."

"That's why you told me she was coming here on her way to Philly?"

Scanlon nods, "Yeah. I want her to be happy. Seems like you have a chance of making her that way. "

"Well, thanks for that. We were able to… work through some of our problems."

"Yeah, I know. She came back to Duncan for a while after you two…. Well, anyway I overheard them talking about you and about the time you'd spent together. Charlie has it really bad for you, ya know?"

"I don't know anything except that I haven't seen her in six months and it's driving me crazy."

Scanlon nodded. "Good."

"Why is that good?"

"Because I think she's missed you like crazy too. Maybe this time you two can work things out?"

"Maybe." Bass frowns. "Where is she now?"

"My guess is she went back to her room. She was kind of emotional during the service."

"Okay." Bass turns to leave but stops and faces Scanlon again, "Hey. Why are you helping me?"

The younger guy smiles sadly, "I met Charlie a long time ago. We were both new to Duncan's organization. Charlie was young – sixteen maybe. I was just a couple years older. Duncan arranged for us to go on…a date, I guess, and –"

"You're the guy she… you were her first?" Bass hates the jealous sting that pulses through him, but he can't help it. He despises the thought of another man ever touching his Charlie.

"Yeah, and she was my first too." Scanlon chuckles nervously, "There should be a law against that, you know? Someone should always know what they're doing. The blind leading the blind never really works…" He trails off and then notices that Bass is pissed, "You can put away your angry face. It was just the once and it happened a really long time ago."

"Okay." Bass isn't sure what to say.

Scanlon has no such problem. He's a talker, "Listen, I thought I liked her, and I guess that I did, but I figured out pretty quickly that I didn't like her that way. Didn't matter. She definitely never had liked me other than as a friend. She just didn't want to be a virgin anymore. For her it was that simple."

"What happened?"

"Well, about five minutes after it was over, Charlie decided to get out of town. She never has been one to stick around for long and tends to deal with her problems by running from them."

Bass snorts, "That, I've noticed. So what about you? Did you go after her?"

He shook his head. "There was no reason to. We parted on good terms. Our hookup was a mistake from the beginning, and we both knew it. It was okay though - no hard feelings or anything. After all, we also both gained something from it."

"Like what?"

"Well, Charlie wasn't a virgin anymore, and she figured out that she needed a change of scenery."

"So she ran away?" Bass frowns.

"Well, yeah. It's what she does."

Bass sighs, deciding not to dwell on her habit of leaving, "You said you both gained something from the experience. What did you gain from it?"

"Affirmation that I'm not into girls – at all. Kind of figured as much beforehand, but wanted to be sure." He shrugs, "Charlie is a great person, and she deserves someone who makes her so happy that she doesn't want to run away from him."

"And you think that could be me?" Bass chuckles with a shake of his head, "Cause she is actually very good at leaving me. It might just be the thing she does best."

"All I'm saying is don't lose hope just yet."

* * *

Charlie is lying on her bed at the inn, still wearing the blue dress. Her cheeks are smeared with tears and her heart aches with regret.

She should have told Miles no when he'd asked her to kill Connor. Someone else could have done the dirty work. Maybe she and Bass could have met under normal circumstances. Maybe they would have been the ones getting married and smashing cake into each other's face. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Maybe that stupid shit Connor would have killed his Dad if Charlie hadn't taken the shot when she did. She shudders. The thought of not having Bass in her life is difficult, but the thought of him dead sends chills down her spine.

Charlie screws her eyes shut tight, willing the whirling thoughts in her head to slow. She wants to get back on the road tomorrow, and she needs to rest.

She drifts off to sleep but wakes with a start when she hears a soft knock on the door. "Go away." She yells out.

The knock comes again.

She sits up and reaches for her knife, quietly edging toward the door. "Who is it?"

The only answer is another soft knock.

Charlie feels her spine tingling. Carefully she reaches for the knob and turns it. The knife falls from her fingers when she sees him. Monroe is here. Bass. Bass is here, leaning casually against the door jam like he doesn't have a care in the world. He looks so completely fuckable that Charlie has to struggle just to find words that aren't 'take me now'.

"You're here." Is all she manages.

He smirks but his eyes are hot, drinking her in like a man parched from thirst. "Yeah. I'm here. Been looking for you for a while."

"Yeah, I know." She whispers.

Bass is moving into the room toward her, and she can only take unsteady steps backwards as he approaches. He's wearing dark grey slacks and a white button down. Neither is quite as fancy as pre-blackout clothes would have been, but she knows they didn't come cheap. Her eyes are drawn to the tanned vee at his throat and she swallows hard, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in his neck and suck at the flesh exposed there.

"Why are you here?" she asks, breathless and unsteady.

"You said 'maybe someday'. This is someday."

She backs away, even though every cell of her being is telling her to jump into his arms. "I was wrong."

"Wrong to think we could have a someday?"

"Yeah." She looks away, unable to meet that searing gaze. "Because Connor…"

"Wasn't my kid." He finishes for her, watching as his words sink in.

"What?" She's staring in shock.

He nods, "I've been trying to find you so I could tell you…."I did have a son named Connor." Bass pauses, composing himself. "I never knew him. Never knew about him." His voice is rough, "He died when he was fourteen. Cholera."

"Oh god." Charlie's hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes go wide.

"The guy who introduced himself to Miles and said I was his Dad – the guy we knew as Connor: that guy was Alexander Nunez. He grew up in Mexico, but left home when he was young and started working for the Patriots as a messenger. Gradually they figured out that he was really good with weapons and they trained him as a killer."

Charlie shakes her head in shock, but for the first time since he'd arrived, she moves closer.

Bass continues, "The Patriots had a very specific goal. They wanted to kill Miles and all of his highest officers and closest allies. Figured that would pave the way for them to take over. When Alexander met Emma and heard her story, he told his superiors and they decided to use the information to get into Miles's inner circle. After she died, he headed to Philly with a story about being my kid. His mission had two parts. He was supposed to turn as many Republic leaders as he could, expanding the Patriot forces…"

"And?"

"And then he was supposed to kill all of us that he couldn't turn. Tom Neville was the only guy he got through to. They'd given up on the rest of us. That's why he'd been told that it was time to start killing everyone on the list."

"Why didn't Miles just arrest him? Why did he ask me to…"

"He didn't know how many of his own men were corrupted, and he needed someone from the outside who none of them would know. You showed up at just the right time."

Charlie leans against him, laying her head on his shoulder. "But, he's wasn't your kid?" She needs to hear him say it one more time.

He sighs, wrapping his arms around her body, "Not my kid." He repeats.

She looks into his eyes and brings up a hand to softly wipe away a tear that has escaped, "Then maybe today is someday after all."

Bass's lips are on hers before she can say more. Six months of need and frustration explode between them. Charlie is ripping at his shirt and he is yanking the hem of her dress high as they make their way toward the bed. Bass is devouring her mouth with his own as his hands grasp roughly at her ass, pulling her closer.

She moans when he jerks her panties down and slides his fingers between legs, slipping through her dripping folds.

"Need you now." Charlie begs. "Now."

When the backs of her calves hit the edge of the bed, she falls back on it, watching eagerly as he unfastens his pants and sheds the shirt. Naked, Bass stands before her. He wraps a hand around his dick and slowly begins to stroke it, watching her.

"Get down here. Need you inside." Charlie reaches down, stroking her tender clit. He growls, falling onto the bed over her.

"Want to show you how much I've missed you…" He sucks lightly on her ear as she wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer. "Don't want to rush it."

Charlie arches against him, "I want you to rush it this time, Bass. Please? I feel so…empty."

"Well, I can't have you feeling empty." He mutters against her lips. He lifts one of her legs so that the ankle rests on his shoulder. He lines up and looks in her eyes. "We can go slow next time…"

Then all thoughts of next time fall away, as this time begins in earnest. He fills her forcefully and she welcomes him into her heat with a happy little sigh that melts his heart. Six months have passed, but their bodies remember.

This feels like coming home.

Much, much later they fall sweaty and tangled onto the bed. "Wow." Charlie says with a contented smile. "Just, wow."

Bass grins at her, his heart lighter than it's felt in a very long time. "So, you're happy?"

"So happy." She closes her eyes, and flings her arms above her head to stretch. Her eyes pop open when she hears the click of a steel latch and feels the cold hardness of a handcuff wrapped snugly around her wrist. A second click can be heard as Bass attaches the other side to the iron headboard.

"What's this?" she asks. "My body is too spent for any of your bondage games right now. Let me go."

"Nope." His eyes are crinkling happily. He is clearly very proud of himself.

"Bass? What's going on?"

"I'm tired." He yawns as if to underscore the truth in his words. "And I came prepared."

"I'm tired too, but why am I handcuffed to the bed?"

"I want to sleep and when I wake up I want to know you're going to still be here."

"You have got to be kidding me?" She mutters with a frown. "You're keeping me prisoner so you can take a nap?"

"Yep. Now go to sleep. I'll unlock you first thing in the morning."

* * *

Bass wakes slowly, a wide smile on his face as he remembers the night before. He reaches for Charlie and his smile fades. "Son of a bitch." He mutters, when he sees the handcuffs dangling from the headboard – no Charlie in sight.

Bass stands and starts yanking on his clothes. He is berating himself for being such an idiot. Of course she would find a way to escape. Of course she would run away from –

"Going somewhere?" Charlie asks from the open door. She's wearing the blue dress and in her hands she carries a bottle of fresh milk and a bag of apples.

Bass feels like his heart will explode at the sight of her. "You came back."

She cocks and eyebrow and smirks, "Well, of course I did. Nowhere else I want to be."

"But the handcuffs…"

She laughs, handing him an apple. "I've been surviving and scraping by for most of my life. You think this is the first time I had to get out of a tight spot?"

"So you've been in cuffs before?" He tries to sound casual, but it's not happening. Jealousy drips off every word.

"Not like that." She rolls her eyes at him, "I was captured by a rival bounty hunter once. I was long gone way before he noticed I was missing. Now, eat ."

"Why?" He looks at her curiously. Something is up.

"Because I went out of my way to find you breakfast and because you need your strength. You are, after all, an old man…and the things I want you to do to me later? Well, you need nourishment first." Charlie is smiling in that all teeth and dimple kind of way that drives him crazy.

He takes a big bite of fruit and pulls her close with a grin. "Give me some more apples, woman."

They eat in silence for a while, smiling into each other's eyes. "What's next?" she asks.

"I thought you had some lengthy sexual to do list for me to work through?" He teases her.

"I meant after that. What do we do next?" She tilts her head. She's serious.

"Well, I sold my house and quit my job. I'll go anywhere you want to go."

"You'll follow me?"

"To the end s of the Earth... I'll follow you forever, but Charlie?"

"Yeah, Bass."

"Don't leave me again. I'm too old for all this cross country bullshit." He sits the last apple core aside and nuzzles her neck.

"What about one more trip? You and me together?"

"Yeah?" Bass honestly can't remember ever being happier. "Where?"

"I've always wanted to go to Florida. Learn to surf. Maybe live on the beach." She runs fingertips slowly up his arm and along his shoulder. "Maybe have a couple kids and just live like normal people? No more running…."

Bass's pulse is hammering wildly, "You want all that with me?"

"Yeah, I think I do." She's kissing his throat softly. "How about you? What do you want?"

"Well, I do have some money saved. Not a lot, but – "

Charlie chuckles, "Money isn't an issue. Aaron has been making me save every damn bit that I didn't absolutely need for years. Forget money. What do you think about my idea? What do YOU want to do?"

"Haven't been to Florida since before the blackout, but I liked it there. I love to surf…"

"And?" She's pulling at the waistband of his pants, becoming impatient.

"And I have no idea if I'll be a good Dad or not, but I would love the chance to do it for real….and I definitely love the idea of…" He pulls her onto his lap, the blue dress now bunched loosely around her waist. "Making all those babies."

"I said a couple." She scolds him playfully.

"How about we play it by ear?" He takes her mouth and kisses her as she begins to rock against the hard ridge in his pants.

"We should probably start practicing now..." She suggests, lifting so he can unzip and ready himself for her.

"Practice does make perfect." He moans quietly as she sinks down and begins to move.

"But Bass," She asks, her lips at his ear, "What if this is already perfect?"

"Still can't hurt to practice."

**End**

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to thegoodshipcharloe for the TopsyTurvy challenge, and to all the amazing and thoughtful folks who left a comment! Hearing what you think about stories is what keeps me writing more of them, after all. A super special thank you to Ice for reading through this last chapter for me and for general moral support. I'll be posting more chaps of Charlie's Journal in the next week and also will be starting on an AU that was inspired by Romeokijai… That one should make its debut next week. Thanks once more for all the comment love. You guys rock! Now, feel free to rock some more and comment on this chapter if you have a moment. -Lemon**


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